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“ THEY HAD RIDDEN FOR MORE THAN TWO HOURS WHEN THEY 
REACHED THE CREST OF THE LAST RISE.” 


1 

THE 

TWO-GUN MAN 


BY 

CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER 

»i 

Author The Range Riders" 


ILLUSTRATED WITH FRONTISPIECE 

BY ROBERT W. AMICK 



NEW YORK 

OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
MCMXI 



II- 1780^ 



Copyright, iqii, by 
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, England 
All rights reserved 



©aA30u:jG8 
ft, n , I 


CONTENTS 


CHAFTEB PAGE 

I. The Stranger at Dry Bottom .... 9 

II. The Stranger Shoots 19 

■ III. The Cabin in the Flat 28 

rV. A “Different Girl” 40 

V. The Man of Dry Bottom 08 

VI. At the Two Diamond 76 

VII. The Measure of a Man 84 

VIII. The Finding of the Orphan . . . .105 

IX. Would You be a “Character”? . . . 114 

X. Disappearance of the Orphan . . . 126 

XI. A Touch of Local Color 138 

XII. The Story Begins 150 

XIII. “Do You Smoke?” 167 

XIV. On the Edge of the Plateau .... 179 

XV. A Free Hand 210 

XVI. Leviatt Takes a Step 219 

XVII. A Break in the Story 244 

XVIII. The Dim Trail 263 

XIX. The Shot in the Dark 276 

XX. Love and a Rifle 286 

XXI. The Promise 298 

XXII. Keeping a Promise 305 

XXIII. At the Edge of the Cottonwood , . .331 

XXIV. The End of the Story 844 
























THE TWO-GUN MAN 





k 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


CHAPTER I 

THE STRANGER AT DRY BOTTOM 

F rom the crest of Three Mile Slope 
the man on the pony could see the 
town of Dry Bottom straggling 
across the gray floor of the flat, its low, 
squat buildings looking like so many old 
boxes blown there by an idle wind, or im- 
ceremoniously dumped there by a careless 
fate and left, regardless, to carry out the 
scheme of desolation. 

Apparently the rider was in no hurry, 
for, as the pony topped the rise and the 
town burst suddenly into view, the little ani- 
9 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


mal pricked up its ears and quickened its 
pace, only to feel the reins suddenly tighten 
and to hear the rider’s voice gruffly discour- 
aging haste. Therefore, the pony pranced 
gingerly, alert, champing the bit impa- 
tiently, picking its way over the lumpy hills 
of stone and cactus, but holding closely to 
the trail. 

The man lounged in the saddle, his strong, 
well-knit body swaying gracefully, his eyes, 
shaded by the brim of his hat, narrowed 
with slight mockery and interest as he gazed 
steadily at the town that lay before him. 

‘T reckon that must be Dry Bottom,” ho 
said finally, mentally taking in its dimen- 
sions. “If that’s so, I’ve only got twenty 
miles to go.” 

Half way down the slope, and still a mile 
and a half from the town, the rider drew 
the pony to a halt. He dropped the reins 
over the high pommel of the saddle, drew 
out his two guns, one after the other, rolled 
the cylinders, and returned the guns to their 
holsters. He had heard something of Dry 
Bottom’s reputation and in examining his 
10 


THE STRANGER 


pistols he was merely preparing himself for 
an emergency. For a moment after he had 
replaced the weapons he sat quietly in the 
saddle. Then he shook out the reins, spoke 
to the pony, and the little animal set for- 
ward at a slow lope. 

An ironic traveler, passing through Dry 
Bottom in its younger days, before civic 
spirit had definitely centered its efforts 
upon things nomenclatural, had hinted that 
the town should be known as “dry” because 
of the fact that while it boasted seven build- 
ings, four were saloons; and that “bottom” 
might well be used as a suffix, because, in 
the nature of things, a town of seven build- 
ings, four of which were saloons, might rea- 
sonably expect to descend to the very depths 
of moral iniquity. 

The ironic traveler had spoken with pro- 
phetic wisdom. Dry Bottom was trying as 
best it knew how to wallow in the depths of 
sin. Unlovely, soiled, desolate of verdure, 
dumped down upon a flat of sand in a tree- 
less waste, amid cactus, crabbed yucca, scor- 
pions, horned toads, and rattlesnakes, Dry 
11 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Bottom had forgotten its morals, subverted 
its principles, and neglected its God. 

As the rider approached to within a few 
hundred yards of the edge of town he be- 
came aware of a sudden commotion. He 
reined in his pony, allowing it to advance 
at a walk, while with alert eyes he endeav- 
ored to search out the cause of the excite- 
ment. He did not have long to watch foi' 
the explanation. 

A man had stepped out of the door of 
one of the saloons, slowly walking twenty 
feet away from it toward the center of the 
street. Immediately other men had fol- 
lowed. But these came only to a point just 
outside the door. For some reason which 
was not apparent to the rider, they were 
giving the first man plenty of room. 

The rider was now able to distinguish the 
faces of the men in the group, and he gazed 
with interested eyes at the man who had 
first issued from the door of the saloon. 

The man was tall — nearly as tall as the 
rider — and in his every movement seemed 
sure of himself. He was young, seemingly 

n 


THE STRANGER 


about thirty-five, with shifty, insolent eyes 
and a hard mouth whose lips were just now 
curved into a self-conscious smile. 

The rider had now approached to within 
fifty feet of the man, halting his pony at 
the extreme end of the hitching rail that 
skirted the front of the saloon. He sat 
carelessly in the saddle, his gaze fixed on 
the man. 

The men who had followed the first man 
out, to the number of a dozen, were appar- 
ently deeply interested, though plainly 
skeptical. A short, fat man, who was stand- 
ing near the saloon door, looked on with a 
half -sneer. Several others were smiling 
blandly. A tall man on the extreme edge 
of the crowd, near the rider, was watching 
the man in the street gravely. Other men 
had allowed various expressions to creep 
into their faces. But all were silent. 

Not so the man in the street. Plainly, 
here was conceit personified, and yet a con- 
ceit mingled with a maddening insolence. 
His expression told all that this thing which 
he was about to do was worthy of the closest 
13 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


attention. He was the axis upon which the 
interest of the universe revolved. 

Certainly he Imew of the attention he was 
attracting. Men were approaching from 
the other end of the street, joining the 
group in front of the saloon — ^which the 
rider now noticed was called the “Silver 
Dollar.” The newcomers were inquisitive; 
they spoke in low tones to the men who had 
arrived before them, gravely inquiring the 
cause. 

But the man in the street seemed not dis- 
turbed by his rapidly swelling audience. 
He stood in the place he had selected, his 
insolent eyes roving over the assembled com- 
pany, his thin, expressive lips opening a 
very little to allow words to filter through 
them. 

“Gents,” he said, “you’re goin’ to see 
some shootin’ ! I told you in the Silver Dol- 
lar that I could keep a can in the air while 
I put five holes in it. There’s some of you 
gassed about bein’ showed, not believin’. 
An’ now I’m goin’ to show you!” 

He reached down and took up a can that 
14 


THE STRANGER 


had lain at his feet, removing the red litho- 
graphed label, which had a picture of a 
large tomato in the center of it. The can 
was revealed, naked and shining in the 
white sunlight. The man placed the can in 
his left hand and drew his pistol with the 
right. 

Then he tossed the can into the air. 
While it still rose his weapon exploded, the 
can shook spasmodically and turned clear 
over. Then in rapid succession followed 
four other explosions, the last occurring 
just before the can reached the ground. The 
man smiled, still holding the smoking 
weapon in his hand. 

The tall man on the extreme edge of the 
group now stepped forward and examined 
the can, while several other men crowded 
about to look. There were exclamations of 
surprise. It was curious to see how quickly 
enthusiasm and awe succeeded skepticism. 

“He’s done it, boys!” cried the tall man, 
holding the can aloft. “Bored it in five 
places!” He stood erect, facing the crowd. 
“I reckon that’s some shootin’!” He now 


15 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


threw a glance of challenge and defiance 
about him. *‘IVe got a hundred dollars to 
say that there ain’t another man in this here 
town can do itl” 

Several men tried, but none equaled the 
first man’s performance. Many of the men 
could not hit the can at all. The first man 
watched their efforts, sneers twitching his 
lips as man after man failed. 

Presently all had tried. Watching 
closely, the rider caught an expression of 
slight disappointment on the tall man’s face. 
The rider was the only man who had not yet 
tried his skill with the pistol, and the man 
in the street now looked up at him, his eyes 
glittering with an insolent challenge. As it 
happened, the rider glanced at the shooter at 
the instant the latter had turned to look up 
at him. Their eyes met fairly, the shooter’s 
conveying a silent taunt. The rider smiled, 
slight mockery glinting his eyes. 

Apparently the stranger did not care to 
try his skill. He still sat lazily in the sad- 
dle, his gaze wandering languidly over the 
crowd. The latter plainly expected him to 
16 


THE STRANGER 


take part in the shooting match and was im- 
patient over his inaction. 

“Two-gun,” sneered a man who stood 
near the saloon door. “I wonder what he 
totes them two guns for?” 

The shooter heard and turned toward the 
man who had spoken, his lips wreathed sa- 
tirically. 

“I reckon he wouldn’t shoot nothin’ with 
them,” he said, addressing the man who had 
spoken. 

Several men laughed. The tall man who 
had revealed interest before now raised a 
hand, checking further comment. 

“That offer of a hundred to the man who 
can beat that shootin’ still goes,” he de- 
clared. “An’ I’m taking off the condition. 
The man that tries don’t have to belong to 
Dry Bottom. No stranger is barred!” 

The stranger’s glance again met the 
shooter’s. The latter grinned felinely. 
Then the rider spoke. The crowd gave him 
its polite attention. 

“I reckon you-all think you’ve seen some 
shootin’,” he said in a steady, even voice, 
17 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


singularly free from boast. “But I reckon 
you ain’t seen any real shootin*.” He turned 
to the tall, grave-faced man. “I ain’t got 
no hundred,” he said, “but I’m goin’ to 
show you.” 

He still sat in the saddle. But now with 
an easy motion he swung down and hitched 
his pony to the rail. 


18 


CHAPTER II 


THE STRANGER SHOOTS 

T he stranger seemed taller on the 
ground than in the saddle and an 
admirable breadth of shoulder and 
slenderness of waist told eloquently of 
strength. He could not have been over 
twenty-five or six. Yet certain hard lines 
about his mouth, the glint of mockery in his 
eyes, the pronounced forward thrust of the 
chin, the indefinable force that seemed to 
radiate from him, told the casual observer 
that here was a man who must be ap- 
proached with care. 

But apparently the shooter saw no such 
signs. In the first glance that had been ex- 
changed between the two men there had 
been a lack of ordinary cordiality. And 
19 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


now, as the rider slid down from his pony 
and advanced toward the center of the 
street, the shooter’s lips curled. Writhing 
through them came slow-spoken words. 

“You runnin’ sheep, stranger?” 

The rider’s lips smiled, but his eyes were 
steady and cold. In them shone a flash of 
cold humor. He stood, quietly contemplat- 
ing his insulter. 

Smiles appeared on the faces of several 
of the onlookers. The tall man with the 
grave face watched with a critical eye. The 
insult had been deliberate, and many men 
crouched, plainly expecting a serious out- 
come. But the stranger made no move 
toward his guns, and when he answered he 
might have been talking about the weather, 
so casual was his tone. 

“I reckon you think you’re a plum man,” 
he said quietly. “But if you are, you ain’t 
showed it much — buttin’ in with that there 
wise observation. An’ there’s some men 
who think that shootin’ at a man is more 
excitin’ than shootin’ at a can.” 

There was a grim quality in his voice now. 

20 


THE STRANGER SHOOTS 


He leaned forward slightly, his eyes cold 
and alert. The shooter sneered experiment- 
ally. Again the audience smiled. 

But the tall man now stepped forward. 
‘‘You’ve made your play, stranger,” he said 
quietly. “I reckon it’s up to you to make 
good.” 

“Correct,” agreed the stranger. “I’m 
goin’ to show you some real shootin’. You 
got another can?” 

Some one dived into the Silver Dollar and 
returned in a flash with another tomato can. 
This the stranger took, removing the label, 
as the shooter had done. Then, smiling, he 
took a position in the center of the street, 
the can in his right hand. 

He did not draw his weapon as the shooter 
had done, but stood loosely in his place, his 
right hand still grasping the can, the left 
swinging idly by his side. Apparently he 
did not mean to shoot. Sneers reached the 
faces of several men in the crowd. The 
shooter growled, “Fourflush.” 

There was a flash as the can rose twenty 
feet in the air, propelled by the right hand 
91 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


of the stranger. As the can reached the 
apex of its climb the stranger’s right hand 
descended and grasped the butt of the 
weapon at his right hip. There was a flash 
as the gun came out; a gasp of astonish- 
ment from the watchers. The can was ar- 
rested in the first foot of its descent by the 
shock of the first bullet striking it. It 
jumped up and out and again began its in- 
terrupted fall, only to stop dead still in the 
air as another bullet struck it. There was 
an infinitesimal pause, and then twice more 
the can shivered and jumped. No man in 
the crowd but could tell that the bullets were 
striking true. 

The can was still ten feet in the air and 
well out from the stranger. The latter 
whipped his weapon to a level, the bullet 
striking the can and driving it twenty feet 
from him. Then it dropped. But when it 
was within five feet of the ground the 
stranger’s gun spoke again. The can 
leaped, careened sideways, and fell, shat- 
tered, to the street, thirty feet distant from 
the stranger. 


THE STRANGER SHOOTS 


Several men sprang forward to examine 
it. 

“Six times!” ejaculated the tall man in 
an awed tone. “An’ he didn’t pull his gun 
till he’d throwed the can!” 

He approached the stranger, drawing him 
confidentially aside. The crowd slowly dis- 
persed, loudly proclaiming the stranger’s 
ability with the six-shooter. The latter took 
his honors lightly, the mocking smile again 
on his face. 

“I’m lookin’ for a man who can shoot,” 
said the tall man, when the last man of the 
crowd had disappeared into the saloon. 

The stranger smiled. “I reckon you’ve 
just seen some shootin’,” he returned. 

The tall man smiled mirthlessly. “You 
particular about what you shoot at?” he 
inquired. 

The stranger’s lips straightened coldly. 
“I used to have that habit,” he returned 
evenly. 

“Hard luck?” queried the tall man. 

“I’m rollin’ in wealth,” stated the 
stranger, with an ironic sneer. 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


The tall man’s eyes glittered. “Where 
you from?” he questioned. 

“You c’n have three guesses,” returned 
the stranger, his eyes narrowing with the 
mockery that the tall man had seen in them 
before. 

The tall man adopted a placative tone. 
“I ain’t wantin’ to butt into your business,” 
he said. “I was wantin’ to find out if any 
one around here knowed you.” 

“This town didn’t send any reception 
committee to meet me, did they?” smiled 
the stranger. 

“Correct,” said the tall man. He leaned 
closer. “You willin’ to work your guns for 
me for a hundred a month?” 

The stranger looked steadily into the tall 
man’s eyes. 

“You’ve been right handy askin’ ques- 
tions,” he said. “Mebbe you’ll answer some. 
What’s your name?” 

“Stafford,” returned the tall man. “I’m 
managin’ the Two Diamond, over on the 
Ute.” 

The stranger’s eyelashes flickered slightly, 
24 ) 


THE STRANGER SHOOTS 


His eyes narrowed quizzically. “What you 
wantin’ of a gun-man?” he asked. 

“Rustler,” returned the other shortly. 

The stranger smiled. “Figger on shoot- 
in’ him?” he questioned. 

Stafford hesitated. “Well, no,” he re- 
turned. “That is, not until I’m sure I’ve 
got the right one.” He seized the stranger’s 
arm in a confidential grip. “You see,” he 
explained, “I don’t know just where I’m at. 
There’s been a rustler workin’ on the herd, 
an’ I ain’t been able to get close enough to 
find out who it is. But rustlin’ has got to 
be stopped. I’ve sent over to Raton to get 
a man named Ned Ferguson, who’s been 
workin’ for Sid Tucker, of the Lazy J. 
Tucker wrote me quite a while back, tellin’ 
me that this man was plum slick at nosin’ 
out rustlers. He was to come to the Two 
Diamond two weeks ago. But he ain’t 
showed up, an’ I’ve about concluded that 
he ain’t cornin’. An’ so I come over to Dry 
Bottom to find a man.” 

“You’ve found one,” smiled the stranger. 

Stafford drew out a handful of double 


25 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


eagles and pressed them into the other’s 
hand. “I’m goin’ over to the Two Diamond 
now,” he said. “You’d better wait a day or 
two, so’s no one will get wise. Come right 
to me, like you was wantin’ a job.” 

He started toward the hitching rail for 
his pony, hesitated and then walked back. 

“I didn’t get your name,” he smiled. 

The stranger’s eyes glittered humorously. 
“It’s Ferguson,” he said quietly. 

Stafford’s eyes widened with astonish-* 
ment. Then his right hand went out and 
grasped the other’s. 

“Well, now,” he said warmly, “that’s what 
I call luck.” 

Ferguson smiled. “Mebbe it’s luck,” he 
returned. “But before I go over to work for 
you there’s got to be an understandin’. I c’li 
shoot some,” he continued, looking steadily 
at Stafford, “but I ain’t runnin’ around the 
country shootin’ men without cause. I’m 
willin’ to try an’ find your rustler for you, 
but I ain’t shootin’ him — unless he goes to 
crowdin’ me mighty close.” 

“I’m agreein’ to that,” returned Stafford. 

26 


THE STRANGER SHOOTS 


He turned again, looking back over his 
shoulder. “You’ll sure be over?” he ques- 
tioned. 

“I’ll be there the day after to-morrow,” 
stated Ferguson. 

He turned and went into the Silver Dol- 
lar. Stafford mounted his pony and loped 
rapidly out of town. 


n 


CHAPTER III 


THE CABIN IN THE ELAT 

I T was the day appointed by Ferguson 
for his presence at the Two Diamond 
ranch, and he was going to keep his 
word. Three hours out of Dry Bottom he 
had struck the Ute trail and was loping his 
pony through a cottonwood that skirted the 
river. It was an enchanted country through 
which he rode; a land of vast distances, of 
white sunlight, blue skies, and clear, pure 
air. Mountains rose in the distances, their 
snowcapped peaks showing above the clouds 
like bald rock spires above the calm level 
of the sea. Over the mountains swam the 
sun, its lower rim slowly disappearing be- 
hind the peaks, throwing off broad white 
shafts of light that soon began to dim as 
28 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


vari-colors, rising in a slumberous haze like 
a gauze veil, mingled with them. 

Ferguson’s gaze wandered from the trail 
to the red buttes that fringed the river. He 
knew this world; there was no novelty here 
for him. He knew the lava beds, looming 
gray and dead beneath the foothills; he 
knew the grotesque rock shapes that seemed 
to hint of a mysterious past. Nature had 
not altered her face. On the broad levels 
were the yellow tinted lines that told of the 
presence of soap-weed, the dark lines that 
betrayed the mesquite, the saccatone belts 
that marked the little guillies. Then there 
were the barrancas, the arid stretches where 
the sage-brush and the cactus grew. Snaky 
octilla dotted the space; the crabbed yucca 
had not lost its ugliness. 

Ferguson looked upon the world with un- 
seeing eyes. He had lived here long and 
the country had not changed. It would 
never change. Nothing ever changed here 
but the people. 

But he himself had not changed. Twen- 
ty-seven years in this country was a long 
29 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


time, for here life was not measured by age, 
but by experience. Looking back over the 
years he could see that he was living to-day 
as he had lived last year, as he had lived 
during the last decade — a hard life, but hav- 
ing its compensations. 

His coming to the Two Diamond ranch 
was merely another of those incidents that, 
during the past year, had broken the mo- 
notony of range life for him. He had had 
some success in breaking up a band of cattle 
thieves which had made existence miserable 
for Sid Tucker, his employer, and the latter 
had recommended him to Stafford. The 
promise of high wages had been attractive, 
and so he had come. He had not expected 
to surprise any one. When during his con- 
versation with the tall man in Dry Bottom 
he had discovered that the latter was the 
man for whom he was to work he had been 
surprised himself. But he had not revealed 
his surprise. Experience and association 
with men who kept their emotions pretty 
much to themselves had taught him the value 
of repression when in the presence of others. 

30 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


But alone he allowed his emotions full 
play. There was no one to see, no one to 
hear, and the silence and the distances, and 
the great, swimming blue sky would not 
tell. 

Stafford’s action in coming to Dry Bot- 
tom for a gunfighter had puzzled him not a 
little. Apparently the Two Diamond man- 
ager was intent upon the death of the rus- 
tler he had mentioned. He had been search- 
ing for a man who could “shoot,” he had 
said. Ferguson had interpreted this to 
mean that he desired to employ a gunfighter 
who would not scruple to kill any man he 
pointed out, whether innocent or guilty. He 
had had some experience with unscrupulous 
ranch managers, and he had admired them 
very little. Therefore, during the ride to- 
day, his lips had curled sarcastically many 
times. 

Riding through a wide clearing in the cot- 
tonwood, he spoke a thought that had trou- 
bled him not a little since he had entered 
Stafford’s employ. 

“Why,” he said, as he rode along, sitting 
SI 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


carelessly in the saddle, “he’s wantin’ to 
make a gunfighter out of me. But I reckon 
I ain’t goin’ to shoot no man unless I’m 
pretty sure he’s gunnin’ for me.” His lips 
curled ironically. “I wonder what the boys 
of the Lazy J would think if they knowed 
that a guy was tryin’ to make a gunfighter 
out of their old straw boss. I reckon they’d 
think that guy was loco — or a heap mistaken 
in his man. But I’m seein’ this thing 
through. I ain’t ridin’ a hundred miles just 
to take a look at the man who’s hirin’ me. 
It’ll be a change. An’ when I go back to 
the Lazy J ” 

It was not the pony’s fault. Neither was 
it Ferguson’s. The pony was experienced; 
behind his slant eyes was stored a world of 
horse-wisdom that had pulled him and his 
rider through many tight places. And Fer- 
guson had ridden horses all his life; he 
would not have known what to do without 
one. 

But the pony stumbled. The cause was 
a prairie-dog hole, concealed under a clump 
of matted mesquite. Ferguson lunged for- 
32 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


ward, caught at the saddle horn, missed it, 
and pitched head-foremost out of the saddle, 
turning completely over and alighting upon 
his feet. He stood erect for an instant, but 
the momentum had been too great. He 
went down, and when he tried to rise a 
twinge of pain in his right ankle brought a 
grimace to his face. He arose and hopped 
over to a flat rock, near where his pony 
now stood grazing as though nothing had 
happened. 

Drawing off his boot, Ferguson made a 
rapid examination of the ankle. It was in- 
flamed and painful, but not broken. He 
believed he could see it swelling. He 
rubbed it, hoping to assuage the pain. The 
woolen sock interfered with the rubbing, 
and he drew it off. 

For a few minutes he worked with the 
ankle, but to little purpose. He finally be- 
came convinced that it was a bad sprain, and 
he looked up, scowhng. The pony turned 
an inquiring eye upon him, and he grinned, 
suddenly smitten with the humor of the 
situation. 


33 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


“You ain’t got no call to look so dog- 
goned innocent about it,” he said. “If you’d 
been tendin’ to your business, you wouldn’t 
have stepped into no damned gopher hole.” 

The pony moved slowly away, and he 
looked whimsically after it, remarking: 
“Mebbe if I’d been tendin’ to my business 
it wouldn’t have happened, either.” He 
spoke again to the pony. “I reckon you 
know that too. Mustard. You’re some 
wise.” 

The animal was now at some little dis- 
tance from the rock upon which he was sit- 
ting. He arose, hobbling on one foot 
toward it, carrying the discarded boot in 
his hand. He thought of riding with the 
foot bare. At the Two Diamond he was 
sure to find some sort of liniment which, 
with the help of a bandage, would materially 
assist nature in 

He was passing a filmy mesquite clump — 
the bare foot swinging wide. There was a 
warning rattle; a sharp thrust of a flat, 
brown head. 

Ferguson halted in astonishment, almost 
34 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


knocked off his balance with the sudden- 
ness of the attack. He still held the boot, 
his fingers gripping it tightly. He raised 
it, with a purely involuntary motion, as 
though to hurl it at his insidious enemy. 
But he did not. The arm fell to his side, 
and his face slowly whitened. He stared 
dully and uncomprehendingly at the sinu- 
ous shape that was slipping noiselessly away 
through the matted grass. 

Somehow, he had never thought of being 
bitten by a rattler. He had seen so many 
of them that he had come to look upon 
them only as targets at which he might 
shoot when he thought he needed prac- 
tice. And now he was bitten. The unreal- 
ity of the incident surprised him. He looked 
around at the silent hills, at the sun that 
swam above the mountain peaks, at the 
great, vast arc of sky that yawned above 
him. Hills, sky, and sun seemed also un- 
real. It was as though he had been sud- 
denly thrust into a land of dreams. 

But presently the danger of the situation 
burst upon him, and he lived once more 
35 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


in the reality. He looked down at his foot. 
A livid, pin-point wound showed in the 
flesh beside the arch. A tiny stream of 
blood was oozing from it. He forgot the 
pain of the sprained ankle and stood upon 
both feet, his body suddenly rigid, his face 
red with a sudden, consuming anger, shak- 
ing a tense fist at the disappearing rattler. 

“You damned sneak!” he shouted shrilly. 

In the same instant he had drawn one of 
his heavy guns and swung it over his head. 
Its crashing report brought a sudden swish- 
ing from beneath the grass, and he hopped 
over closer and sent three more bullets into 
the threshing brown body. He stood over 
it for a moment, his teeth showing in a 
savage snarl. 

“You won’t bite any one else, damn you!” 
he shouted. 

The impotence of this conduct struck him 
immediately. He flushed and drooped his 
head, a grim smile slowly wearing down 
his expression of panic. Seldom did he al- 
low his emotions to reveal themselves so 
plainly. But the swiftness of the rattler’s 
B6 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


attack, the surprise when he had not been 
thinking of such a thing, the fact that he 
was far from help and that his life was in 
danger — all had a damaging effect upon 
his self-control. And yet the smile showed 
that he was still master of himself. 

Very deliberately he returned to the rock 
upon which he had been sitting, ripping off 
his coat and tearing away the sleeve of his 
woollen shirt. Twisting the sleeve into the 
form of a rude rope, he tied it loosely 
around his leg, just above the ankle. Then 
he thrust his knife between the improvised 
rope and the leg, forming a crude tourni- 
quet. He twisted the knife until tears of 
pain formed in his eyes. Then he fastened 
the knife by tucking the haft under the 
rope. His movements had been very delib- 
erate, but sure, and in a few minutes he 
hobbled to his pony and swung into the 
saddle. 

He had seen men who had been bitten by 
rattlers — ^had seen them die. And he knew 
that if he did not get help within half an 
hour there would be little use of doing any- 
37 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


thing further. In half an hour the virus 
would have so great a grip upon him that 
it would be practically useless to apply any 
of the antidotes commonly known to the 
inhabitants of the country. 

Inquiries that he had made at Dry Bot- 
tom had resulted in the discovery that the 
Two Diamond ranch was nearly thirty 
miles from the town. If he had averaged 
eight miles an hour he had covered about 
twenty-four miles of the distance. That 
would still leave about six. And he could 
not hope to ride those six miles in time to 
get any benefit from an antidote. 

His lips straightened, he stared grimly at 
a ridge of somber hills that fringed the sky- 
line. They had told him back in Dry Bot- 
tom that the Two Diamond ranch was some- 
where in a big basin below those hiUs. 

‘T reckon I won’t get there, after all,” 
he said, commenting aloud. 

Thereafter he rode grimly on, keeping a 
good grip upon himself — for he had seen 
men bitten by rattlers who had lost their 
self-control — and they had not been good to 
38 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


look upon. Much depended upon coolness ; 
somewhere he had heard that it was a mis- 
take for a bitten man to exert himself in 
the first few minutes following a bite; exer- 
tion caused the virus to circulate more rap- 
idly through the system. And so he rode 
at an even pace, carefully avoiding the 
rough spots, though keeping as closely to 
the trail as possible. 

“If it hadn’t been a diamond-back — an’ a 
five-foot one — this rope that I’ve got around 
my leg might be enough to fool him,” he said 
once, aloud. “But I reckon he’s got me.” 
His eyes lighted savagely for an instant. 
“But I got him, too. Had the nerve to 
think that he could get away after throw- 
in’ his hooks into me.” 

Presently his eyes caught the saffron light 
that glowed in the western sky. He laughed 
with a grim humor. “I’ve heard tell that 
a snake don’t die till sundown — ^much as 
you hurt him. If that’s so, an’ I don’t get 
to where I c’n get some help, I reckon it’ll 
be a stand off between him an’ me as to 
who’s goin’ first.” 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


A little later he drew Mustard to a halt, 
sitting very erect in the saddle and fixing 
his gaze upon a tall cottonwood tree that 
rose near the trail. His heart was racing 
madly, and in spite of his efforts, he felt 
himself swaying from side to side. He had 
often seen a rattler doing that — fiat, ugly 
head raised above his coiled body, forked 
tongue shooting out, his venomous eyes 
glittering, the head and the part of the 
body rising above the coils swaying grace- 
fully back and forth. Yes, gracefully, 
for in spite of his hideous aspect, 
there was a certain horrible ease of move- 
ment about a rattler — a slippery, sinuous 
motion that partly revealed reserve 
strength, and hinted at repressed energy. 

Many times, while watching them, he had 
been fascinated by their grace, and now, sit- 
ting in the saddle, he caught himself won- 
dering if the infiuence of a bite were great 
enough to cause the person bitten to imitate 
the snake. He laughed when this thought 
struck him and drove his spurs sharply 
against Mustard’s fianks, riding forward 
40 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


past the cottonwood at which he had been 
staring. 

“Helll” he ejaculated, as he passed the 
tree, “what a fool notion.” 

But he could not banish the “notion” 
from his mind, and five minutes later, when 
he tried again to sit steadily, he found the 
swaying more pronounced. The saddle 
seemed to rock with him, and even by jam- 
ming his uninjured foot tightly into the ox- 
bow stirrup he could not stop swaying. 

“Mebbe I won’t get very far,” he said, 
realizing that the poison had entered his 
system, and that presently it would riot in 
his veins, “but I’m goin’ on until I stop. 
I wouldn’t want that damned rattler to 
know that he’d made me quit so soon.” 

He urged Mustard to a faster pace, even 
while realizing that speed was hopeless. He 
could never reach the Two Diamond. Con- 
vinced of this, he halted the pony again, 
swaying in the saddle and holding, for the 
first time, to the pommel in an effort to 
steady himself. But he still swayed. He 
laughed mockingly. 


41 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“Now, what do you think of that?’^ he 
said, addressing the silence. “You might 
think I was plum tenderfoot an’ didn’t know 
how to ride a horse proper.” 

He urged the pony onward again, and 
for some little time rode with bowed head, 
trying to keep himself steady by watching 
the trail. He rode through a little clear- 
ing, where the grass was matted and some 
naked rocks reared aloft. Near a clump of 
sage-brush he saw a sudden movement — a 
rattler trying to slip away unnoticed. But 
the snake shd into Ferguson’s vision and 
with a sneer of hate he drew one of his 
weapons and whipped it over his head, its 
roar awakening echoes in the wood. Twice, 
three times, the crashing report sounded. 
But the rattler whisked away and disap- 
peared into the grass — apparently unin- 
jured. 

For an instant Ferguson scowled. Then 
a grin of mockery reached his flushed face. 

“I reckon I’m done,” he said. “Can’t 
even hit a rattler no more, an’ him a brother 
or sister of that other one.” A delirious 
42 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


light flashed suddenly in his eyes, and he 
seemed on the point of dismounting. “I’ll 
cert’nly smash you some!” he said, speak- 
ing to the snake — which he could no longer 
see. “I ain’t goin’ to let no snake bite me 
an’ get away with it!” 

But he now smiled guiltily, embarrass- 
ment shining in his eyes. “I reckon that 
wasn’t the snake that bit you, Ferguson,” 
he said. “The one that bit you is back on 
the trail. He ain’t goin’ to die till sundown. 
Not till sundown,” he repeated mechanic- 
ally, grimly; “Ferguson ain’t goin’ to die 
till sundown.” 

He rode on, giving no attention to the 
pony whatever, but letting the reins fall 
and holding to the pommel of the saddle. 
His face was burning now, his hands were 
twitching, and an unnatural gleam had 
come into his eyes. 

“Ferguson got hooked by a rattler!” he 
suddenly exclaimed, hilarity in his voice. 
“He run plum into that reptile; tried to 
walk on him with a bare foot.” The laugh 
was checked as suddenly as it had come, and 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


a grim quality entered his voice. “But Fer- 
guson wasn’t no tenderfoot — ^he didn’t 
scare none. He went right on, not sayin’ 
anything. You see, he was reckonin’ to 
be man’s size.” 

He rode on a little way, and as he entered 
another clearing a rational gleam came into 
his eyes. “I’m still a-goin’ it,” he mut- 
tered. 

A shadow darkened the trail; he heard 
Mustard whinny. He became aware of a 
cabin in front of him; heard an exclama- 
tion ; saw dimly the slight figure of a woman, 
sitting on a small porch ; as through a mist, 
he saw her rise and approach him, standing 
on the edge of the porch, looking at him. 

He smiled, bowing low to her over his 
pony’s mane. 

“I shot him, ma’am,” he said gravely, 
“but he ain’t goin’ to die till sundown.” 

As from some great distance a voice 
seemed to come to him. “Mercy!” it said. 
“What is wrong? Who is shot?” 

“Why, the snake, ma’am,” he returned 
thickly. He slid down from his pony and 
44 


THE CABIN IN THE FLAT 


staggered to the edge of the porch, leaning 
against one of the slender posts and hang- 
ing dizzily on. “You see, ma’am, that 
damned rattler got Ferguson. But Fergu- 
son ain’t reckonin’ on dyin’ till sundown. 
He couldn’t let no snake get the best of 
him.” 

He saw the woman start toward him, felt 
her hands on his arms, helping him upon the 
porch. Then he felt her hands on his 
shoulders, felt them pressing him down. He 
felt dimly that there was a chair under him, 
and he sank into it, leaning back and stretch- 
ing himself out full length. A figure flitted 
before him and presently there was a sharp 
pain in his foot. He started out of the 
chair, and was abruptly shoved back into it. 
Then the figure leaned over him, prying his 
jaws apart with some metal like object and 
pouring something down his throat. He 
choked as he swallowed, vainly trying to 
brush away the object. 

“You’re a hell of a snake,” he said sav- 
agely. Then the world blurred dizzily, and 
he drifted into oblivion. 

45 


CHAPTER IV 


A “different girl” 

F erguson had no means of know- 
ing how long he was unconscious, 
but when he awoke the sun had gone 
down and the darkening shadows had stolen 
into the clearing near the cabin. He still 
sat in the chair on the porch. He tried to 
lift his injured foot and found to his sur- 
prise that some weight seemed to be on it. 
He struggled to an erect position, looking 
down. His foot had been bandaged, and 
the weight that he had thought was upon it 
was not a weight at all, but the hands of a 
young woman. 

She sat on the porch floor, the injured 
foot in her lap, and she had just finished 
bandaging it. Beside her on the porch floor 
46 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


was a small black medicine case, a sponge, 
some yards of white cloth, and a tin wash 
basin partly filled with water. 

He had a hazy recollection of the young 
woman ; he knew it must have been she that 
he had seen when he had ridden up to the 
porch. He also had a slight remembrance 
of having spoken to her, but what the words 
were he could not recall. He stretched him- 
self painfully. The foot pained frightfully, 
and his face felt hot and feverish; he was 
woefully weak and his nerves were tingling 
— but he was alive. 

The girl looked up at his movement. Her 
lips opened and she held up a warning hand. 

“You are to be very quiet,” she ad- 
monished. 

He smiled weakly and obeyed her, leaning 
back, his gaze on the slate-blue of the sky. 
She still worked at the foot, fastening the 
bandage; he could feel her fingers as they 
passed lightly over it. He did not move, 
feeling a deep contentment. 

Presently she arose, placed the foot gen- 
tly down, and entered the house. With 
47 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


closed eyes he lay in the chair, listening to 
her step as she walked about in the house. 
He lay there a long time, and when he 
opened his eyes again he knew that he must 
have been asleep, for the night had come and 
a big yellow moon was rising over a rim of 
distant hills. Turning his head slightly, he 
saw the interior of one of the rooms of the 
cabin — ^the kitchen, for he saw a stove and 
some kettles and pans hanging on the wall 
and near the window a table, over which 
was spread a cloth. A small kerosene lamp 
stood in the center of the table, its rays 
glimmering weakly through the window. He 
raised one hand and passed it over his fore- 
head. There was still some fever, but he felt 
decidedly better than when he had awakened 
the first time. 

Presently he heard a light step and be- 
came aware of some one standing near him. 
He knew it was the girl, even before she 
spoke, for he had caught the rustle of her 
dress. 

“Are you awake,” she questioned. 

“Why, yes, ma’am,” he returned. He 
48 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


turned to look at her, but in the darkness 
he could not see her face. 

“Do you feel like eating anything?” she 
asked. 

He grinned ruefully in the darkness. “I 
couldn’t say that I’m exactly yearnin’ for 
grub,” he returned, “though I ain’t done any 
eatin’ since mornin’. I reekon a rattler’s 
bite ain’t considered to help a man’s appetite 
any.” 

He heard her laugh softly. “No,” she re- 
turned; “I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

He tried again to see her, but could not, 
and so he relaxed and turned his gaze on the 
sky. But presently he felt her hand on his 
shoulder, and then her voice, as she spoke 
firmly. 

“You can’t lie here all night,” she said. 
“You would be worse in the morning. And 
it is impossible for you to travel to-night. 
I am going to help you to get into the house. 
You can lean your weight on my shoulder.” 

He struggled to an erect position and 
made out her slender figure in the dim light 
from the window. He would have been 
49 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


afraid of crushing her could he have been 
induced to accept her advice. He got to his 
uninjured foot and began to hop toward the 
door, but she was beside him instantly pro- 
testing. 

“Stop!” she commanded firmly. “If you 
do that it will be the worse for you. Put 
your hand on my shoulder!” 

In the darkness he could see her eyes flash 
with determination, and so without further 
objection he placed a hand lightly on her 
shoulder, and in this manner they made their 
way through the door and into the cabin. 
Once inside the door he halted, blinking at 
the light and undecided. But she promptly 
led him toward another door, into a room 
containing a bed. She led him to the bed- 
side and stood near him after he had sunk 
down upon it. 

“You are to sleep here to-night,” she said. 
“To-morrow, if you are considerably better, 
I may allow you to travel.” She went out, 
returning immediately with a small bottle 
containing medicine. “If you feel worse 
during the night,” she directed, “you must 
50 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


take a spoonful from that bottle. If you 
think you need anything else, don’t hesitate 
to call. I shall be in the next room.” 

He started to voice his thanks, but she 
cut him short with a laugh. “Good-night,” 
she said. Then she went out and closed the 
door after her. 

He awoke several times during the night 
and each time took a taste of the medicine in 
the bottle. But shortly after midnight he 
fell into a heavy sleep, from which he did 
not awaken until the dawn had come. He 
lay quiet for a long time, until he heard 
steps in the kitchen, and then he rose and 
went to the door, throwing it open and 
standing on the threshold. 

She was standing near the table, a coffee 
pot in her hand. Her eyes widened as she 
saw him. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You are very 
much better!” 

He smiled. “I’m thankin’ you for it, 
ma’am,” he returned. “I cert’nly wouldn’t 
have been feelin’ anything if I hadn’t met 
you when I did.” 


51 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


She put the coffee pot down and looked 
gravely at him. 

“You were in very bad shape when you 
came,” she admitted. “There was a time 
when I thought my remedies would not pull 
you through. They would not had you come 
five minutes later.” 

He had no reply to make to this, and he 
stood there silent, until she poured coffee 
into a cup, arranged some dishes, and then 
invited him to sit at the table. 

He needed no second invitation, for he 
had been twenty-four hours without food. 
And he had little excuse to complain of the 
quality of the food that was set before him. 
He ate in silence and when he had finished 
he turned away from the table to see the 
girl dragging a rocking chair out upon the 
porch. She returned immediately, smiling 
at him. 

“Your chair is ready,” she said. “I think 
you had better not exert yourself very much 
to-day.” 

“Why, ma’am,” he expostulated, “I’m 
feelin’ right well. I reckon I could be 
52 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


travelin’ now. I ain’t used to bein’ babied 
this way.” 

“I don’t think you are being ‘babied,’ ” 
she returned a trifle coldly. “I don’t think 
that I would waste any time with anyone if 
I thought it wasn’t necessary. I am merely 
telling you to remain for your own good. 
Of course, if you wish to disregard my ad- 
vice you may do so.” 

He smiled with a frank embarrassment 
and limped toward the door. “Why, 
ma’am,” he said regretfully as he reached the 
door, “I cert’nly don’t want to do anything 
which you think ain’t right, after what 
you’ve done for me. I don’t want to be- 
little you, an’ I think that when I said that 
I might have been gassin’ a little. But I 
thought mebbe I’d been enough trouble al- 
ready.” 

It was not entirely the confession itself, 
but the self-accusing tone in which it had 
been uttered that brought a smile to her 
face. 

“All the same,” she said, “you are to do 
as I tell you.” 


53 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


He smiled as he dropped into the chair on 
the porch. It was an odd experience for 
him. Never before in his life had anyone 
adopted toward him an air of even partial 
proprietorship. He had been accustomed to 
having people — always men — ^meet him 
upon a basis of equality, and if a man had 
adopted toward him the tone that she had 
employed there would have been an instant 
severing of diplomatic relations and a be- 
ginning of hostilities. 

But this situation was odd — a woman had 
ordered him to do a certain thing and he 
was obeying, realizing that in doing so he 
was violating a principle, though conscious 
of a strange satisfaction. He knew that he 
had promised the Two Diamond manager, 
and he was convinced that, in spite of the 
pain in his foot, he was well enough to ride. 
But he was not going to ride ; her command 
had settled that. 

For a long time he sat in the chair, looking 
out over a great stretch of flat country which 
was rimmed on three sides by a fringe of 
low hills, and behind him by the cottonwood, 
54 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU' 


The sun had been up long; it was swimming 
above the rim of distant hills — a ball of 
molten silver in a shimmering white blur. 
The cabin was set squarely in the center of a 
big clearing, and about an eighth of a 
mile behind him was a river — the river that 
he had been following when he had been 
bitten by the rattler. 

He knew from the location of the cabin 
that he had not gone very far out of his 
way ; that a ride of an eighth of a mile would 
bring him to the Two Diamond trail. And 
he could not be very far from the Two Dia- 
mond. Yet because of an order, issued by a 
girl, he was doomed to delay his appearance 
at the ranch. 

He had seen no man about the cabin. Did 
the girl live here alone? He was convinced 
that no woman could long survive the soli- 
tude of this great waste of country — some 
man — a brother or a husband — ^must share 
the cabin with her. Several times he caught 
himself hoping that if there was a man here 
it might be a brother, or even a distant rela- 
Itive. The thought that she might have a 
65 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


husband aroused in him a sensation of vague 
disquiet. 

He heard her moving about in the cabin, 
heard the rattle of dishes, the swish of a 
broom on the rough floor. And then pres- 
ently she came out, dragging another rocker. 
Then she re-entered the cabin, returning 
with a strip of striped cloth and a sewing 
basket. She seated herself in the chair, 
placed the basket in her lap, and with a half 
smile on her face began to ply the needle. 
He lay back contentedly and watched her. 

Hers was a lithe, vigorous figure in a 
white apron and a checkered dress of some 
soft material. She wore no collar ; her 
sleeves were shoved up above the elbows, re- 
vealing a pair of slightly browned hands 
and white, rounded arms. Her eyes were 
brown as her hair — the latter in a tumble of 
graceful disorder. Through half closed eyes 
he was appraising her in a riot of admira- 
tion that threatened completely to bias his 
judgment. And yet women had interested 
him very little. 

Perhaps that was because he had never 
56 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


seen a woman like this one. The women 
that he had known had been those of the 
plains-town — the unfortunates who through 
circumstances or inclination had been drawn 
into the maelstrom of cow-country vice, and 
who, while they may have found flattery, 
were never objects of honest admiration or 
respect. 

He had known this young woman only a 
few hours, and yet he knew that with her 
he could not adopt the easy, matter-of-fact 
intimacy that had answered with the other 
women he had known. In fact, the desire to 
look upon her in this light never entered his 
mind. Instead, he was fllled with a deep ad- 
miration for her — an admiration in which 
there was a profound respect. 

‘T expect you must know your business, 
ma’am,” he said, after watching her for a 
few minutes. “An’ I’m mighty glad that you 
do. Most women would have been pretty 
nearly flustered over a snake bite.” 

“Why,” she returned, without looking up, 
but exhibiting a little embarrassment, which 
betrayed itself in a slight flush, “I really 
5T 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


think that I was a little excited — especially 
when you came riding up to the porch.” 
She thought of his words, when, looking at 
her accusingly, he had told her that she was 
“a hell of a snake,” and the flush grew, suf- 
fusing her face. This of course he had not 
known and never would know, but the words 
had caused her many smiles during the 
night. 

“You didn’t show it much,” he observed. 
“You must have took right a-hold. Some 
women would have gone clean off the han- 
dle. They wouldn’t have been able to do 
anything.” 

Her lips twitched, but she still gave her 
attention to her sewing, treating his talk 
with a mild interest. 

“There is nothing about a snake bite to 
become excited over. That is, if treatment 
is applied in time. In your case the tourni- 
quet kept the poison from getting very far 
into your system. If you hadn’t thought of 
that it might have gone very hard with you.” 

“That rope around my leg wouldn’t have 
done me a bit of good though, ma’am, if I 
58 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


hadn’t stumbled onto your cabin. I don’t 
know when seein’ a woman has pleased me 
more.” 

She smiled enigmatically, her eyelashes 
flickering slightly. But she did not answer. 

Until noon she sewed, and he lay lazily 
back in the chair, watching her sometimes, 
sometimes looking at the country around 
him. They talked very little. Once, when 
he had been looking at her for a long time, 
she suddenly raised her eyes and they met 
his fairly. Both smiled, but he saw a blush 
mantle her cheeks. 

At noon she rose and entered the cabin. 
A little later she called to him, telling him 
that dinner was ready. He washed from 
the tin basin that stood on the bench just 
outside the door, and entering sat at the 
table and ate heartily. 

After dinner he did not see her again for 
a time, and becoming wearied of the chair 
he set out on a short excursion to the river. 
When he returned she was seated on the 
porch and looked up at him with a demure 
smile, 


59 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“You will be quite active by to-morrow,” 
she said. 

“I ain’t feelin’ exactly lazy now,” he re- 
turned, showing a surprising agility in 
reaching his chair. 

When the sun began to swim low over the 
hills, he looked at her with a curiously grim 
smile, 

“I reckon that rattler was fooled last 
night,” he said. “But if foolin’ him had been 
left to me I expect I’d have made a bad job 
of it. But I’m thinkin’ that he done his 
little old dyin’ when the sun went down last 
night. An’ I’m still here. An’ I’ll keep 
right on, usin’ his brothers an’ sisters for 
targets — when I think that I’m needin’ 
practice.” 

“Then you killed the snake?” 

“Why sure, ma’am. I wasn’t figgerin’ to 
let that rattler go a-fannin’ right on to hook 
someone else. That’d be encouragin’ his 
trade.” 

She laughed, evidently pleased over his 
earnestness. “Oh, I see,” she said. “Then 
you were not angry merely because he bit 
60 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


you? You killed him to keep him from at- 
tacking other persons?” 

He smiled. “I sure was some angry,” he 
returned. “An’ I reckon that just at the 
time I wasn’t thinkin’ much about other 
people. I was havin’ plenty to keep me 
busy.” 

“But you killed him. How?” 

“Why I shot him, ma’am. Was you 
thinkin’ that I beat him to death with some- 
thin’?” 

Her lips twitched again, the corners turn- 
ing suggestively inward. But now he caught 
her looking at his guns. She looked from 
them to his face. “All cowboys do not carry 
two guns,” she said suddenly. 

He looked gravely at her. “Well, no, 
ma’am, they don’t. There’s some that claim 
carryin’ two guns is clumsy. But there’s 
been times when I found them right con- 
venient.” 

She fell silent now, regarding her sewing. 
A quizzical smile had reached his face. This 
exchange of talk had developed the fact that 
she was a stranger to the country. No 
61 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Western girl would have made her remark 
about the gun's. 

He did not know whether or not he was 
pleased over the discovery. Certain subtle 
signs about her had warned him in the be- 
ginning that she was different from the other 
women of his acquaintance, but he had not 
thought of her being a stranger here, of her 
coming here from some other section of the 
country — ^the East, for instance. 

Her being from the East would account 
for many things. First, it would make plain 
to him why she had smiled several times dur- 
ing their talks, over things in which he had 
been able to see no humor. Then it would 
answer the question that had formed in his 
mind concerning the fluency of her speech. 
Western girls that he had met had not at- 
tained that ease and poise which he saw was 
hers so naturally. Yet in spite of this ac- 
complishment she was none the less a woman 
— demure eyed, ready to blush and become 
confused as easily as a Western woman. 
Assured of this, he dropped the slight con- 
straint which up till now had been plain in 
62 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


his voice, and an inward humor seemed to 
draw the corners of his mouth slightly down- 
ward. 

“I reckon that folks where you come from 
don’t wear guns at all, ma’am,” he said 
slowly. 

She looked up quickly, surprised into 
meeting his gaze fairly. His eyes did not 
waver. She rocked vigorously, showing 
some embarrassment and giving undue at- 
tention to her sewing. 

“How do you know that?” she ques- 
tioned, raising her head and looking at him 
with suddenly defiant eyes. “I am not 
aware that I told you that I was a stranger 
here! Don’t you think you are guessing 
now?” 

His eyes narrowed cunningly. “I don’t 
think I need to do any guessin’, ma’am,” he 
returned. “When a man sees a different 
girl, he don’t have to guess none.” 

The “different” girl was regarding him 
with furtive glances, plainly embarrassed 
under his direct words. But there was much 
defiance in her eyes, as though she was aware 
63 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


of the trend of his words and was determined 
to outwit him, 

“I think you must be a remarkable man,” 
she said, with the faintest trace of mockery 
in her voice, ‘'to be able to discover such a 
thing so quickly. Or perhaps it is the at- 
mosphere — it is marvelous.” 

“I expect it ain’t exactly marvelous,” he 
returned, laboring with the last word. 
“When a girl acts different, a man is pretty 
apt to know it.” He leaned forward a little, 
speaking earnestly. “I know that I’m talk- 
in’ pretty plain to you, ma’am,” he went on. 
“But when a man has been bit by a rattler 
an’ has sort of give up hope an’ has had his 
life saved by a girl, he’s to be excused if he 
feels that he’s some acquainted with the girl. 
An’ then when he finds that she’s some dif- 
ferent from the girls he’s been used to seein’, 
I don’t see why he hadn’t ought to take a lot 
of interest in her.” 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes drooping. 
And then, her eyes dancing as they shot a 
swift glance at him — “I should call that a 
pretty speech.” 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRU^ 


He reddened with embarrassment. “I ex- 
pect you are laughin’ at me now, ma’am,” 
he said. “But I wasn’t thinkin’ to make any 
pretty speeches. I was tellin’ you the 
truth.” 

She soberly plied her needle, and he sat 
back, watching her. 

“I expect you are a stranger around here 
yourself,” she said presently, her eyes cov- 
ered with drooping lashes. “How do you 
know that you have any right to sit there 
and tell me that you take an interest in me ? 
How do you know that I am not married?” 

He was not disconcerted. He drawled 
slightly over his words when he answered. ^ 

“You wouldn’t listen at me at all, ma’am; 
you cert’nly wouldn’t stay an’ listen to any 
speeches that you thought was pretty, if you 
was married,” he said. Plainly, he had not 
lost faith in the virtue of woman. 

“But if I did listen?” she questioned, her 
face crimson, though her eyes were still de- 
fiant. 

He regarded her with pleased eyes. “I’ve 
been lookin’ for a weddin’ ring,” he said. 

65 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


She gave it up in confusion. “I don’t 
know why I am talking this way to you,” 
she said. “I expect it is because there isn’t 
anything else to do. But you really are en- 
tertaining!” she declared, for a parting shot. 

Once Ferguson had seen a band of travel- 
ing minstrels in Cimarron. Their jokes (of 
an ancient vintage) had taken well with the 
audience, for the latter had laughed. Fer- 
guson remembered that a stranger had said 
that the minstrels were “entertaining.” And 
now he was entertaining her. A shadow 
passed over his face; he looked down at his 
foot, with its white bandage so much in evi- 
dence. Then straight at her, his eyes grave 
and steady. 

“I’m glad to have amused you, ma’am,” 
he said. “An’ now I reckon I’ll be gettin’ 
over to the Two Diamond. It can’t be very 
far now.” 

“Five miles,” she said shortly. She had 
dropped her sewing into her lap and sat 
motionless, regarding him with level eyes. 

“Are you working for the Two Dia- 
mond?” she questioned. 

66 


A ^^DIFFERENT GIRL 


“Lookin’ for a job,” he returned. 

“Oh!” The exclamation struck him as 
rather expressionless. He looked at her. 

“Do you know the Two Diamond folks?” 

“Of course.” 

“Of course,” he repeated, aware of the 
constraint in her voice. “I ought to have 
known. They’re neighbors of your’n.” 

“They are not!” she suddenly flashed 
back at him. 

“Well, now,” he returned slowly, puzzled, 
but knowing that somehow he was getting 
things wrong, “I reckon there’s a lot that I 
don’t know.” 

“If you are going to work over at the Two 
Diamond,” she said coldly, “you will know 
more than you do now. My ” 

Evidently she was about to say something 
more, but a sound caught her ear and she 
rose, dropping her sewing to the chair. 

“My brother is coming,” she said quietly. 

Standing near the door she caught Fer- 
guson’s swift glance. 

“Then it ain’t a husband after all,” he 
said, pretending surprise. 

67 


CHAPTER V 


THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM 

A YOUNG man rode around the corner 
of the cabin and halted his pony 
beside the porch, sitting quietly in 
the saddle and gazing inquiringly at the 
two. He was about Ferguson’s age and, 
like the latter, he wore two heavy guns. 
There was about him, as he sat there sweep- 
ing a slow glance over the girl and the man, 
a certain atmosphere of deliberate certainty 
and quiet coldness that gave an impression 
of readiness for whatever might occur. 

Ferguson’s eyes lighted with satisfaction. 
The girl might be an Easterner, but the 
young man was plainly at home in this 
country. Nowhere, except in the West, 
could he have acquired the serene calm that 
68 


THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM 


shone out of his eyes; in no other part of 
the world could he have caught the easy as- 
surance, the unstudied nonchalance, that 
seems the inherent birthright of the cow- 
puncher. 

“Ben,” said the girl, answering the young 
man’s glance, “this man was bitten by a 
rattler. He came here, and I treated him. 
He says he was on his way over to the Two 
Diamond, for a job.” 

The young man opened his lips slightly. 
“Stafford hire you?” he asked. 

“I’m hopin’ he does,” returned Ferguson. 

The young man’s lips drooped sneeringly. 
“I reckon you’re wantin’ a job mighty bad,” 
he said. 

Ferguson smiled. “Takin’ your talk, you 
an’ Stafford ain’t very good friends,” he re- 
turned. 

The young man did not answer. He dis- 
mounted and led his pony to a small corral 
and then returned to the porch, carrying his 
saddle. 

For an instant after the young man had 
left the porch to turn his pony into the cor- 
69 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


ral Ferguson had kept his seat on the porch. 
But something in the young man’s tone 
had brought him out of the chair, de- 
termined to accept no more of his hospi- 
tality. If the young man was no friend of 
Stafford, it followed that he could not feel 
well disposed to a puncher who had avowed 
that his purpose was to work for the Two 
Diamond manager. 

Ferguson was on his feet, clinging to one 
of the slender porch posts, preparatory to 
stepping down to go to his pony, when the 
young woman came out. Her sharp ex- 
clamation halted him. 

“You’re not going now!” she said. “You 
have got to remain perfectly qu'iet until 
morning!” 

The brother dropped his saddle to the 
porch floor, grinning mildly at Ferguson, 
“You don’t need to be in a hurry,” he said. 
“I was intending to run your horse into the 
corral. What I meant about Stafford don’t 
apply to you.” He looked up at his sister, 
still grinning. “I reckon he ain’t got noth- 
ing to do with it?” 


70 


THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM 


The young woman blushed. ‘T hope 
not,” she said in a low voice. 

“We’re goin’ to eat pretty soon,” said the 
young man. “I reckon that rattler didn’t 
take your appetite?” 

Ferguson flushed. “It was plum re- 
diculous, me bein’ hooked by a rattler,” he 
said. “An’ I’ve lived among them so long.” 

“I reckon you let him get away?” ques- 
tioned the young man evenly. 

“If he’s got away,” returned Ferguson, 
his lips straightening with satisfaction, “he’s 
a right smart snake.” 

He related the incident of the attack, end- 
ing with praises of the young woman’s skiU. 

The young man smiled at the reference to 
his sister. “She’s studied medicine — back 
East. Lately she’s turned her hand to writ- 
in’. Come out here to get experience — ^local 
color, she calls it.” 

Ferguson sat back in his chair, quietly 
digesting this bit of information. Medicine 
and writing. What did she write? Love 
stories? Fairy tales? Romances? He had 
read several of these. Mostly they were ab- 
71 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


surd and impossible. Love stories, he 
thought, would be easy for her. For — ^he 
said, mentally estimating her — a woman 
ought to know more about love than a man. 
And as for anything being impossible in a 
love story. Why most anything could hap- 
pen to people who are in love. 

“Supper is ready,” he heard her announce 
from within. 

Ferguson preceded the young man at the 
tin wash basin, taking a fresh towel that the 
young woman offered him from the door- 
way. Then he followed the young man in- 
side. The three took places at the table, and 
Ferguson was helped to a frugal, though 
wholesome meal. 

The dusk had begun to fall while they 
were yet at the table, and the young woman 
arose, lighting a kerosene lamp and placing 
it on the table. By the time they had finished 
semi-darkness had settled. Ferguson fol- 
lowed the young man out to the chairs on 
the porch for a smoke. 

They were scarcely seated when there was 
a clatter of hoofs, and a pony and rider came 


THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM 


out of the shadow of the nearby cotton- 
wood, approaching the cabin and halting be- 
side the porch. The newcomer was a man of 
about thirty-five. The light of the kerosene 
lamp shone fairly in his face as he sat in the 
saddle, showing a pair of cold, steady eyes 
and thin, straight lips that were wreathed 
in a smile. 

‘T thought I’d ride over for a smoke an’ 
a talk before goin’ down the crick to where 
the outfit’s workin’,” he said to the young 
man. And now his eyes swept Ferguson’s 
lank figure with a searching glance. “But I 
didn’t know you was havin’ company,” he 
added. The second glance that he threw 
toward Ferguson was not friendly. 

Ferguson’s lips curled slightly under it. 
Each man had been measured by the other, 
and neither had found in the other anything 
to admire. 

Ferguson’s thoughts went rapidly back to 
Dry Bottom. He saw a man in the street, 
putting five bullets through a can that he 
had thrown into the air. He saw again the 
man’s face as he had completed his exhi- 
73 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


bition — insolent, filled with a sneering 
triumph. He heard again this man’s voice, 
as he himself had offered to eclipse his 
feat ; — 

“You runnin’ sheep, stranger?” 

The voice and face of the man who stood 
before him now were the voice and face of 
the man who had preceded him in the shoot- 
ing match in Dry Bottom. His thoughts 
were interrupted by the voice of his host, 
explaining his presence. 

“This here man was bit by a rattler this 
afternoon,” the young man was saying. 
“He’s layin’ up here for to-night. Says he’s 
reckonin’ on gettin’ a job over at the Two 
Diamond.” 

The man on the horse sneered. “Helll” 
he said; “bit by a rattler!” He laughed in- 
solently, pulling his pony’s head around. “I 
reckon I’ll be goin’,” he said. “You’ll nurse 
him so’s he won’t die?” He had struck the 
pony’s flanks with the spurs and was gone 
into the shadows before either man on the 
porch could move. There was a short si- 
lence, while the two men listened to the beat 
74 


THE MAN OF DRY BOTTOM 

of his pony’s hoofs. Then Ferguson turned 
and spoke to the young man. 

“You know him?” he questioned. 

The young man smiled coldly. “Yep,” 
he said; “he’s range boss for the Two Dia- 
mond!” 


75 


CHAPTER VI 


AT THE TWO DIAMOND 

A S Ferguson rode through the pure 
sunshine of the morning his thoughts 
kept going back to the little cabin 
in the flat — “Bear Flat,” she had called it. 
Certain things troubled him — ^he, whose 
mind had been always untroubled — even 
through three months of idleness that had 
not been exactly attractive. 

“She’s cert’nly got nice eyes,” he told him- 
self confidentially, as he lingered slowly on 
his way; “an’ she knows how to use them. 
She sure made me seem some breathless. 
An’ no girl has ever done that. An’ her hair 
is like” — he pondered long over this — “like 
— why, I reckon I didn’t just ever see any- 
thing like it. An’ the way she looked at 
mel” 


76 


AT THE TWO DIAMOND 


A shadow crossed his face. “So she’s a 
writer — an’ she’s studied medicine. I reckon 
I’d like it a heap better if she didn’t monkey 
with none of them fool things. What busi- 
ness has a girl got to ” He suddenly 

laughed aloud. “Why I reckon I’m pretty 
near loco,” he said, “to be ravin’ about a girl 
like this. She ain’t nothin’ to me; she just 
done what any other girl would do if a man 
come to her place bit by a rattler.” 

He spurred his pony forward at a sharp 
lope. And now he found that his thoughts 
would go back to the moment of his depart- 
ure from the cabin that morning. She had 
accompanied him to the door, after bandag- 
ing the ankle. Her brother had gone away 
an hour before. 

“I’m thankin’ you, ma’am,” Ferguson said 
as he stood for a moment at the door. “I 
reckon I’d have had a bad time if it hadn’t 
been for you.” 

“It was nothing,” she returned. 

He had hesitated — ^he still felt the thrill 
of doubt that had assailed him before he had 
taken the step that he knew was impertinent. 

77 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“I’ll be ridin’ over here again, some day, if 
you don’t mind,” he said. 

Her face reddened a trifle. “I’m sure 
brother would like to have you,” she replied. 

“I don’t remember to have said that I was 
cornin’ over to see your brother,” was his 
reply. 

“But it would have to be he,” she said, 
looking straight at him. “You couldn’t 
come to see me unless I asked you.” 

And now he had spoken a certain word 
that had been troubling him. “Do you 
reckon that Two Diamond range boss comes 
over to see your brother?” 

She frowned. “Of course!” she replied. 
“He is my brother’s friend. But I — I de- 
spise him!” 

Ferguson grinned broadly. “Well, now,” 
he said, unable to keep his pleasure over her 
evident dislike of the Two Diamond man 
from showing in his eyes and voice, “that’s 
cert’nly too bad. An’ to think he’s wastin’ 
his time — ridin’ over here.” 

She gazed at him with steady, unwaver- 
ing eyes. He could still remember the chal- 
78 


AT THE TWO DIAMOND 


lenge in them. “Be careful that you don’t 
waste your time!” was her answer. 

“I reckon I won’t,” was his reply, as he 
climbed into the saddle. “But I won’t be 
cornin’ over here to see your brother!” 

“Oh, dear!” she said, “I call that very 
brazen!” 

But when he had spurred his pony down 
through the crossing of the river he had 
turned to glance back at her. And he had 
seen a smile on her face. As he rode now 
he went over this conversation many times, 
much pleased with his own boldness; more 
pleased because she had not seemed angry 
with him. 

It was late in the morning when he caught 
sight of the Two Diamond ranch buildings, 
scattered over a great basin through which 
the river flowed. Half an hour later he 
rode up to the ranchhouse and met Stafford 
at the door of the office. The manager 
waved him inside. 

“I’m two days late,” said Ferguson, after 
he had taken a chair in the office. He re- 
lated to Stafford the attack by the rattler. 

79 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


The latter showed some concern over the in- 
jury. 

‘T reckon you didn’t do your own doctor- 
in’?” he asked. 

Ferguson told him of the girl. The man- 
ager’s lips straightened. A grim humor 
shone from his eyes. 

“You stayed there over night?” he ques- 
tioned. 

“I reckon I stayed there. It was in a 
cabin down at a place which I heard the girl 
say was called ‘Bear Flat.’ I didn’t ketch 
the name of the man.” 

Stafford grinned coldly. “I reckon they 
didn’t know what you was cornin’ over here 
for?” 

“I didn’t advertise,” returned Ferguson 
quietly. 

“If you had,” declared Stafford, his eyes 
glinting with a cold amusement, “you would 
have found things plum lively. The man’s 
name is Ben Radford. He’s the man I’m 
hirin’ you to put out of business!” 

For all Stafford could see Ferguson did 
not move a muscle. Yet the news had 


80 


AT THE TWO DIAMOND 


shocked him ; he could feel the blood surging 
rapidly through his veins. But the expres- 
sion of his face was inscrutable. 

‘‘Well, now,” he said, “that sure would 
have made things interestin’. An’ so that’s 
the man you think has been stealin’ your 
cattle?” He looked steadily at the manager. 
“But I told you before that I wasn’t doin’ 
any shootin’.” 

“Correct,” agreed the manager. “What 
I want you to do is to prove that Radford’s 
the man. We can’t do anything until we 

prove that he’s been rustlin’. An’ then ” 

He smiled grimly. 

“You reckon to know the girl’s name 
too?” inquired Ferguson. 

“It’s Mary,” stated the manager. “I’ve 
heard Leviatt talk about her.” 

Ferguson contemplated the manager 
gravely. “An’ you ain’t sure that Radford’s 
stealin’ your cattle?” 

Stafford filled and lighted his pipe. “I’m 
takin’ Dave Leviatt’s word for it,” he said. 

“Who’s Leviatt?” queried Ferguson. 

“My range boss,” returned Stafford. 

81 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“He’s been ridin’ sign on Radford an’ says 
he’s responsible for all the stock that we’ve 
been missin’ in the last six months.” 

Ferguson rolled a cigarette. He lighted 
it and puffed for a moment in silence, the 
manager watching him. 

“Back at Dry Bottom,” said Ferguson 
presently, “there was a man shootin’ at a 
can when I struck town. He put five bullets 
through the can. Was that your range 
boss?” 

Stafford smiled. “That was Leviatt — ^my 
range boss,” he returned. “We went over 
to Dry Bottom to get a gunfighter. We 
wanted a man who could shoot plum quick. 
He’d have to be quick, for Radford’s light- 
nin’ with a six. L^iatt said shootin’ at a 
can would be a good way to find a man who 
could take Radford’s measure — in case it 
was necessary,” he added quickly. 

Ferguson’s face was a mask of immobility. 
“Where’s Leviatt now?” he questioned. 

“Up the Ute with the outfit.” 

“How far up?” 

“Thirty miles.” 


82 


^AT THE TWO DIAMOND 


Ferguson’s eyelashes flickered. “Has 
Leviatt been here lately?” he questioned. 

“Not since the day before yesterday.” 

“When you expectin’ him back?” 

“The boys’ll be cornin’ back in a week. 
He’ll likely come along with them.” 

“U — um. You’re giving me a free 

hand?” 

“Of course.” 

Ferguson lounged to the door. “I’m 
lookin’ around a little,” he said, “to kind of 
size up things. I don’t want you to put me 
with the outfit. That strike you right?” 

“I’m hirin’ you to do a certain thing,” 
returned Stafford. “I ain’t tellin’ you how 
it ought to be done. You’ve got till the fall 
roundup to do it.” 

Ferguson nodded. He went to the corral 
fence, unhitched his pony, and rode out on 
the plains toward the river. Stafford 
watched him until he was a mere dot on the 
horizon. Then he smiled with satisfaction. 

“I kind of like that guy,” he said, com- 
menting mentally. “There ain’t no show 
work to him, but he’s business.” 

83 


CHAPTER VII 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 

D uring the week following Fergu- 
son’s arrival at the Two Diamond 
ranch Stafford saw very little of 
him. Mornings saw him proceed to the 
corral, catch up his pony, mount, and de- 
part. He returned with the dusk. Several 
times, from his office window, Stafford had 
seen him ride away in the moonlight. 

Ferguson did his own cooking, for the 
cook had accompanied the wagon outfit 
down the river. Stafford did not seek out 
the new man with instructions or advice ; the 
work Ferguson was engaged in he must do 
alone, for if complications should happen to 
arise it was the manager’s business to know 
nothing. 


84 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


The Two Diamond ranch was not unlike 
many others that dotted the grass plains of 
the Territory. The interminable miles that 
separated Stafford from the nearest, did not 
prevent him from referring to that par- 
ticular owner as “neighbor”, for distances 
were thus determined — and distances thus 
determined were nearly always inaccurate. 
The traveler inquiring for his destination 
was expected to discover it somewhere in the 
unknown distance. 

The Two Diamond ranch had the envi- 
able reputation of being “slick” — which 
meant that Stafford was industrious and 
thrifty and that his ranch bore an appear- 
ance of unusual neatness. For example, 
Stafford believed in the science of irrigation. 
A fence skirted his buildings, another ran 
around a large area of good grass, forming 
a pasture for his horses. His buildings were 
attractive, even though rough, for they re- 
vealed evidence of continued care. His 
ranchhouse boasted a sloped roof and paved 
galleries. 

A garden in the rear was but another in- 
85 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


stance of Stafford’s industry. He had cattle 
that were given extraordinary care because 
they were “milkers,” for in his youth Staf- 
ford had lived on a farm and he remembered 
days when his father had sent him out into 
the meadow to drive the cows home for the 
milking. There were many other things 
that Stafford had not forgotten, for chickens 
scratched promiscuously about the ranch 
yard, occasionally trespassing into the sacred 
precincts of the garden and the flower beds. 
His horses were properly stabled during the 
cold, raw days that came inevitably ; his men 
had little to complain of, and there was a 
general atmosphere of prosperity over the 
entire ranch. 

But of late there had been little content- 
ment for the Two Diamond manager. For 
six months cattle thieves had been at work 
on his stock. The result of the spring 
round-up had been far from satisfactory. 
He knew of the existence of nesters in the 
vicinity; one of them — Radford — he had 
suspected upon evidence submitted by the 
range boss. Radford had been warned to va- 
86 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


cate Bear Flat, but the warning had been 
disregarded. 

But one other course was left, and Staf- 
ford had adopted that. There had been no 
hesitancy on the manager’s part; he must 
protect the Two Diamond property. Senti- 
ment had no place in the situation whatever. 
Therefore toward Ferguson’s movements 
Stafford adopted an air of studied indiffer- 
ence, not doubting, from what he had seen 
of the man, that he would eventually ride in 
and report that the work which he had been 
hired to do was finished. 

Toward the latter end of the week the 
wagon outfit straggled in. They came in 
singly, in twos and threes, bronzed, hardy, 
seasoned young men, taciturn, serene eyed, 
capable. They continued to come until 
there were twenty-seven of them. Later in 
the day came the wagon and the remuda. 

From a period of calm and inaction the 
ranch now awoke to life and movement. 
The bunkhouse was scrubbed; — “swabbed” 
in the vernacular of the cowboys; the scant 
bedding was “cured” in the white sunlight; 

87 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


and the cook was adjured to extend himself 
in the preparation of ‘‘chuck” (meaning 
food) to repay the men for the lack of good 
things during a fortnight on the open range 
with the wagon. 

At dusk on the first day in Rope J ones, a 
tall, lithe young puncher, whose spare mo- 
ments were passed in breaking the wild 
horses that occasionally found their way to 
the Two Diamond, was oiling his saddle 
leathers. Sitting on a bench outside the 
bunkhouse he became aware of Stafford 
standing near. 

“Leviatt come in?” queried the manager. 

The puncher grinned. “Nope. Last I 
seen of Dave he was hittin’ the breeze to- 
ward Bear Flat. Said he’d be in later.” He 
lowered his voice significantly. “Reckon 
that Radford girl is botherin’ Dave a heap.” 

Stafford smiled coldly and was about to 
answer when he saw Ferguson dropping 
from his pony at the corral gate. Follow- 
ing Stafford’s gaze, Rope also observed Fer- 
guson. He looked up at Stafford. 

“New man?” he questioned. 

88 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


Stafford nodded. He had invented a 
plausible story for the presence of Fer- 
guson. Sooner or later the boys would 
have noticed the latter’s absence from the 
outfit. Therefore if he advanced his story 
now there would be less conjecture later. 

“You boys have got enough to do,” he 
said, still watching Ferguson. “I’ve hired 
this man to look up strays. I reckon he c’n 
put in a heap of time at it.” 

Rope shot a swift glance upward at the 
manager’s back. Then he grinned furtively. 

“Two-gun,” he observed quietly; “with 
the bottoms of his holsters tied down. I 
reckon your stray-man ain’t for to be 
monkeyed with.” 

But Stafford had told his story and knew 
that within a very little time Rope would be 
telling it to the other men. So without an- 
swering he walked toward the ranchhouse. 
Before he reached it he saw Leviatt unsad- 
dling at the corral gate. 

When Ferguson, with his saddle on his 
shoulder, on his way to place it on its accus- 
tomed peg in the lean-to adjoining the bunk- 

m 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


house, passed Rope, it was by the merest ac- 
cident that one of the stirrups caught the 
cinch buckle of Rope’s saddle. Not observ- 
ing the tangle, Ferguson continued on his 
way. He halted when he felt the stirrup 
strap drag, turning half around to see what 
was wrong. He smiled broadly at Rope. 

‘‘You reckon them saddles are ac- 
quainted?” he said. 

Rope deftly untangled them. “I ain’t 
thinkin’ they’re relations,” he returned, grin- 
ning up at Ferguson. “Leastways I never 
knowed a ‘double cinch’ an’ a ‘center fire’ to 
git real chummy.” 

“I reckon you’re right,” returned Fer- 
gTison, his eyes gleaming cordially; “an’ I’ve 
knowed men to lose their tempers discussin’ 
whether a center fire or a double cinch was 
the most satisfyin’.” 

“Some men is plum fools,” returned 
Rope, surveying Ferguson with narrow, 
pleased eyes. “You didn’t observe that the 
saddles rode any easier after the argument 
than before?” 

“I didn’t observe. But mebbe the men 
90 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


was more satisfied. Let a man argue that 
somethin’ he’s got is hetter’n somethin’ that 
another fellow’s got an’ he falls right in love 
with his own — an’ goes right on failin’ in 
love with it. Nothin’ c’n ever change his 
mind after an argument.” 

‘‘I know a man who’s been studyin’ human 
nature,” observed Rope, grinning. 

“An’ not wastin’ his time arguin’ fool 
questions,” added Ferguson. 

“You sure ain’t plum greenhorn,” de- 
clared Rope admiringly. 

“Thank yu’,” smiled Ferguson; “I wasn’t 
lookin’ to see whether you’d cut your eye- 
teeth either.” 

“Well, now,” remarked Rope, rising and 
shouldering his saddle, “you’ve almost con- 
vinced me that a double cinch ain’t a bad 
saddle. Seems to make a man plum good 
humored.” 

“When a man’s hungry an’ right close to 
the place where he’s goin’ to feed,” said Fer- 
guson gravely, “he hadn’t ought to bother 
his head about nothin’.” 

“You’re settin’ at my right hand at the 
91 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


table,” remarked Rope, delighted with his 
new friend. 

Several of the men were already at the 
washtrough when Rope and Ferguson 
reached there. The method by which they 
performed their ablutions was not delicate, 
but it was thorough. And when the dust 
had been removed their faces shone with the 
dusky health-bloom that told of their hard, 
healthy method of living. Men of various 
ages were there — grizzled riders who saw 
the world through the introspective eye of 
experience ; young men with their en- 
thusiasms, their impulses; middle-aged men 
who had seen much of life — enough to be 
able to face the future with unshaken com- 
placence; but all bronzed, clear-eyed, self- 
reliant, unafraid. 

When Ferguson and Rope entered the 
bunkhouse many of the men were already 
seated. Ferguson and Rope took places at 
one end of the long table and began eating. 
No niceties of the conventions were observed 
here; the men ate each according to his 
whim and were immune from criticism. 

n 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


Table etiquette was a thing that would have 
spoiled their joy of eating. Theirs was a 
primitive country; their occupation primi- 
tive ; their manner of living no less so. They 
concerned themselves very little with the 
customs of a world of which they heard very 
little. 

Nor did they bolt their food silently — as 
has been recorded of them by men who knew 
them little. If they did eat rapidly it was 
because the ravening hunger of a healthy 
stomach demanded instant attention. And 
they did not overeat. Epicurus would have 
marveled at the simplicity of their food. 
Conversation was mingled with every 
mouthful. 

At one end of the table sat an empty 
plate, with no man on the bench before it. 
This was the place reserved for Leviatt, the 
range boss. Next to this place on the right 
was seated a goodlooking young puncher, 
whose age might have been estimated at 
twenty-three. “Skinny” they called him be- 
cause of his exceeding slenderness. At the 
moment Ferguson settled into his seat the 
93 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


young man was filling the room with rapid 
talk. This talk had been inconsequential and 
concerned only those small details about 
which we bother during our leisure. But 
now his talk veered and he was suddenly 
telling something that gave promise of con- 
secutiveness and universal interest. Other 
voices died away as his arose. 

“Leviatt ain’t the only one,” he was say- 
ing. “She ain’t made no exception with 
any of the outfit. To my knowin’ there’s 
been Lon Dexter, Soapy, Clem Miller, 
Lazy, Wrinkles — an’ myself,” he admitted, 
reddening, “been notified that we was 
mavericks an’ needed our ears marked. An’ 
now comes Leviatt a-fannin’ right on to get 
his’n. An’ I reckon he’ll get it.” 

“You ain’t tollin’ what she said when she 
give you your’n,” said a voice. 

There was a laugh, through which the 
youth emerged smiling broadly. 

“No,” he said, “I ain’t tollin’. But she 
told Soapy here that she was lookin’ for 
local color. Wanted to know if he was it. 
Since then Soapy’s been using a right smart 
94 ( 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


lot of soap, tryin’ to rub some color into his 
face.” 

Color was in Soapy’s face now. He sat 
directly opposite the slender youth and his 
cheeks were crimson. 

“I reckon if you’d keep to the truth ” 

he began. But Skinny has passed on to the 
next. 

“An’ there’s Dexter. Lon’s been awful 
quiet since she told him he had a picturesque 
name. Said it’d do for to put into a book 
which she’s goin’ to write, but when it come 
to choosin’ a husband she’d prefer to tie up 
to a commoner name. An’ so Lon didn’t 
graze on that range no more.” 

“This country’s goin’ plum to ” 

sneered Dexter. But a laugh silenced him. 
And the youth continued. 

“It might have been fixed up for Lazy,” 
he went on, “only when she found out his 
name was Lazy, she wanted to know right 
off if he could support a wife — providin’ he 
got one. He said he reckoned he could, an’ 
she told him he could experiment on some 
other woman. An’ now Lazy ’ll have to look 
95 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


around quite a spell before he’ll get another 
chancst. I’d call that bein’ in mighty poor 
luck.” 

Lazy was giving his undivided attention 
to his plate. * 

“An’ she come right out an’ told Wrinkles 
he was too old; that when she was thinkin’ 
of gettin’ wedded to some old monolith she’d 
send word to Egypt, where they keep ’em in 
stock. Beats me where she gets all them 
words.” 

“Told me she’d studied her dictionary,” 
said a man who sat near Ferguson. 

The young man grinned. “Well, I swear 
if I didn’t come near forgettin’ Clem 
Miller!” he said. “If you hadn’t spoke up 
then, I reckon you wouldn’t have been in on 
this deal. An’ so she told you she’d studied 
her dictionary! Now, I’d call that news. 
Some one’d been tellin’ me that she’d asked 
you the meanin’ of the word ‘evaporate.’ 
An’ when you couldn’t tell her she told you 
to do it. Said that when you got home you 
might look up a dictionary an’ then you’d 
know what she meant. 


96 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


fore. A man meets another in North 
America — in the Antipodes. He looks upon 
him, meets his eye, and instantly has won a 
friend or made an enemy. Perhaps this will 
always be true of men. Certainly it was 
true of Ferguson and the range boss. 

What force was at work in Leviatt when 
in Dry Bottom he had insulted Ferguson? 
Whatever the force, it had told him that the 
steady-eyed, deliberate gun-man was hence- 
forth to be an enemy. Enmity, hatred, evil 
intent, shone out of his eyes as they met 
Ferguson’s. 

Beyond the slight curl of the lips the 
latter gave no indication of feeling. And 
after the exchange of glances he resumed 
eating, apparently unaware of Leviatt’s ex- 
istence. 

Later, the men straggled from the bunk- 
house, seeking the outdoors to smoke and 
talk. Upon the bench just outside the door 
several of the men sat ; others stood at a little 
distance, or lounged in the doorway. With 
Rope, Ferguson had come out and was 
standing near the door, talking. 

99 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


The talk was light, turning to trivial in- 
cidents of the day’s work — ^things that are 
the monotony of the cowboy life. 

Presently Leviatt came out and joined the 
group. He stood near Ferguson, mingling 
his voice with the others. For a little time 
the talk flowed easily and much laughter 
rose. Then suddenly above the good 
natured babble came a harsh word. Instant- 
ly the other voices ceased, and the men of 
the group centered their glances upon the 
range boss, for the harsh word had come 
from him. He had been talking to a man 
named Tucson and it was to the latter that 
he had now spoken. 

“There’s a heap of rattlers in this 
country,” he had said. 

Evidently the statement was irrelevant, 
for Tucson’s glance at Leviatt’s face was 
uncomprehending. But Leviatt did not wait 
for an answer. 

“A man might easily claim to have been 
bit by one of them,” he continued, his voice 
falling coldly. 

The men of the group sat in a tense 
100 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


silence, trying to penetrate this mystery that 
had suddenly silenced their talk. Steady 
eyes searched out each face in an endeavor 
to discover the man at whom the range boss 
was talking. They did not discover him. 
Ferguson stood near Leviatt, an arm’s 
length distant, his hands on his hips. Per- 
haps his eyes were more alert than those of 
the other men, his lips in a straighter line. 
But apparently he knew no more of this 
mystery than any of the others. 

And now Leviatt’s voice rose again, in- 
solent, carrying an unmistakable personal 
application. 

“Stafford hires a stray-man,” he said, 
sneering. “This man claims to have been 
bit by a rattler an’ lays up over night in Ben 
Radford’s cabin — ^makin’ love to Mary Rad- 
ford.” 

Ferguson turned his head slightly, sur- 
veying the range boss with a cold, alert eye. 

“A little while ago,” he said evenly, “I 
heard a man inside tellin’ about some of the 
boys teamin’ their lessons from a girl over 
on Bear Flat, I reckon, Leviatt, that you’ve 
101 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


been over there to learn your’n. An’ now 
you’ve got to let these boys know !” 

Just a rustle it was — a snake-like motion. 
And then Ferguson’s gun was out; its cold 
muzzle pressed deep into the pit of Leviatt’s 
stomach, and Ferguson’s left hand was pin- 
ning Leviatt’s right to his side, the range 
boss’s hand still wrapped around the butt 
of his half -drawn weapon. Then came Fer- 
guson’s voice again, dry, filled with a quiet 
earnestness : 

"T ain’t goin’ to hurt you — you’re still 
tenderfoot with a gun. I just wanted to 
^show these boys that you’re a false alarm. 
I reckon they know that now.” 

Leviatt sneered. There was a movement 
behind Ferguson. Tucson’s gun was half 
way out of its holster. And then arose 
Rope’s voice as his weapon came out and 
menaced Tucson. 

“Three in this game would mak.e it odd, 
Tucson,” he said quietly. “If there’s goin’ 
to be any shootin’, let’s have an even break, 
anyway.” 

Tucson’s hand fell away from his holster ; 

102 


THE MEASURE OF A MAN 


he stepped back toward the door, away from 
the range boss and Ferguson. 

Leviatt’s face had crimsoned. “Mebbe I 
was runnin’ a little bit wild ” he began. 

“That’s cornin’ down right handsome,” 
said Ferguson. 

He sheathed his gun and deliberately 
turned his back on Leviatt. The latter stood 
silent for a moment, his face gradually pal- 
ing. Then he turned to where Tucson had 
taken himself and with his friend entered 
the bunkhouse. In an instant the old talk 
arose and the laughter, but many furtive 
glances swept Ferguson as he stood, talking 
quietly with Rope. 

The following morning Stafford came 
upon Rope while the latter was throwing the 
saddle on his pony down at the corral gate. 

“I heard something about some trouble 
between Dave Leviatt an’ the new stray- 
man,” said Stafford. ‘T reckon it wasn’t 
serious?” 

Rope turned a grave eye upon the mana- 
ger. “Shucks,” he returned, “I reckon it 
wasn’t nothin’ serious. Only,” he continued 
10 $ 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


with twitching lips, “Dave was takin’ the 
stray-man’s measure.” 

Stafford smiled grimly. “How did the 
stray-man measure up?” he inquired, a smile 
working at the corners of his mouth. “I 
reckon he wasn’t none shy?” 

Rope grinned, admiration glinting his 
eyes. “He’s sure man’s size,” he returned, 
giving his attention to the saddle cinch. 


104 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN 

D uring the few first days of his con- 
nection with the Two Diamond Fer- 
guson had reached the conclusion 
that he would do well to take plenty of time 
to inquire into the situation before attempt- 
ing any move. He had now been at the 
Two Diamond for two weeks and he had not 
even seen Radford. Nor had he spoken half 
a dozen words with Stafford. The manager 
had observed certain signs that had con- 
vinced him that speech with the stray-man 
was unnecessary and futile. If he purposed 
to do anything he would do it in his own time 
and in his own way. Stafford mentally de- 
cided that the stray-man was “set in his 
ways.” 


105 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


The wagon outfit had departed, — ^this 
time down the river. Rope Jones had gone 
with the wagon, and therefore F erguson was 
deprived of the companionship of a man who 
had unexpectedly taken a stand with him in 
his clash with Leviatt and for whom he had 
conceived a great liking. 

With the wagon had gone Leviatt also. 
During the week that had elapsed between 
the clash at the bunkhouse and the departure 
of the wagon the range boss had given no 
sign that he knew of the existence of Fer- 
guson. Nor had he intimated by word or 
sign that he meditated revenge upon Rope 
because of the latter’s championship of the 
stray-man. If he had any such intention he 
concealed it with consummate skill. He 
treated Rope with a politeness that drew 
smiles to the faces of the men. But Fer- 
guson saw in this politeness a subtleness of 
purpose that gave him additional light on 
the range boss’s character. A man who held 
his vengeance at his finger tips would have 
taken pains to show Rope that he might ex- 
pect no mercy. Had Leviatt revealed an 
106 


THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN 


open antagonism to Rope, the latter might 
have known what to expect when at last the 
two men would reach the open range and 
the puncher be under the direct domination 
of the man he had offended. 

There were many ways in which a petty 
vengeance might be gratified. It was with- 
in the range boss’s power to make life nearly 
unbearable for the puncher. If he did 
this it would of course be an unworthy 
vengeance, and Ferguson had little doubt 
that any vengeance meditated by Leviatt 
would not be petty. 

F erguson went his own way, deeply 
thoughtful. He was taking his time. Cer- 
tain things were puzzling him. Where did 
Leviatt stand in this rustling business ? That 
was part of the mystery. Stafford had told 
him that he had Leviatt’s word that Rad- 
1 ford was the thief who bad been stealing the 
Two Diamond cattle. Stafford had said 
^ also that it had been Leviatt who had sug- 
gested employing a gunfighter — had even 
gone to Dry Bottom with the manager for 
I the purpose of finding one. And now that 
107 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


one had been employed Leviatt had become 
suddenly antagonistic to him. 

And Leviatt was in the habit of visiting 
the Radford cabin. Of course he might be 
doing this for the purpose of spying upon 
Ben Radford, but if that were the case why 
had he shown so venomous when he had seen 
Ferguson sitting on the porch on the even- 
ing of the day after the latter had been 
bitten by the rattler? 

Mary Radford had told him that Leviatt 
was her brother’s friend. If he was a friend 
of the brother why had he suggested that 
Stafford employ a gunfighter to shoot him? 
Here was more mystery. 

On a day soon after the departure of the 
wagon outfit he rode away through the af- 
ternoon sunshine. Not long did his thoughts 
dwell upon the mystery of the range boss and 
Ben Radford. He kept seeing a young 
woman kneeling in front of him, bathing 
and binding his foot. Scraps of a conversa- 
tion that he had not forgotten revolved in 
his mind and brought smiles to his lips. 

“She didn’t need to act so plum serious 
108 


THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN 


when she told me that I didn’t know that I 
had any right to set there an’ make pretty 
speeches to her. . . . She wouldn’t need 

to ask me to stay at the cabin all night. I 
could have gone on to the Two Diamond. 
I reckon that snake bite wasn’t so plum 
dangerous that I’d have died if I’d have rode 
a little while.” 

As he came out of a little gully a few miles 
up the river and rode along the crest of a 
ridge that rose above endless miles of plains, 
his thoughts went back to that first night 
in the bunkhouse when the outfit had come 
in from the range. Satisfaction glinted in 
his eyes. 

‘T reckon them boys didn’t make good 
with her. An’ I expect that some day 
Leviatt will find he’s been wastin’ his time.” 

He frowned at thought of Leviatt and un- 
consciously his spurs drove hard against the 
pony’s flanks. The little animal sprang for- 
ward, tossing his head spiritedly. F erguson 
grinned and patted its flank with a remorse- 
ful hand. 

“Well, now. Mustard,” he said, “I wasn’t 
109 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


reckonin’ on takin’ my spite out on you. You 
don’t expect I thought you was Leviatt.” 
And he patted the flank again. 

He rode down the long slope of the rise 
and struck the level, traveling at a slow lope 
through a shallow washout. The ground 
was broken and rocky here and the snake- 
like cactus caught at his stirrup leathers. A 
rattler warned from the shadow of some 
sage-brush and, remembering his previous 
experience, he paused long enough to shoot 
its head off. 

“There,” he said, surveying the shattered 
snake, “I reckon you ain’t to blame for me 
bein’ bit by your uncle or cousin, or some- 
thin’, but I ain’t never goin’ to be particular 
when I see one of your family swingin’ their 
head that suggestive.” 

He rode on again, reloading his pistol. 
For a little time he traveled at a brisk pace 
and then he halted to breathe Mustard. 
Throwing one leg over the pommel, he 
turned half way around in the saddle and 
swept the plains with a casual glance. 

He sat erect instantly, focusing his gaze 
110 


THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN 


upon a speck that loomed through a dust 
cloud some miles distant. For a time he 
watched the speck, his eyes narrowing. Fin- 
ally he made out the speck to be a man on a 
pony. 

“He’s a-fannin’ it some,” he observed, 
shading his eyes with his hands; “hittin’ up 
the breeze for fair.” »He meditated long, a 
critical smile reaching his lips. 

“It’s right warm to-day. Not just the 
kind of an atmosphere that a man ought to 
be runnin’ his horse reckless in.” He medi- 
tated again. 

“How far would you say he’s off. Mus- 
tard? Ten miles, I reckon you’d say if you 
was a knowin’ horse.” 

The horseman had reached a slight ridge 
and for a moment he appeared on the crest 
of it, racing his pony toward the river. Then 
he suddenly disappeared. 

Ferguson smiled coldly. Again his gaze 
swept the plains and the ridges about him. 
“I don’t see nothin’ that’d make a man ride 
like that in this heat,” he said. “Where 
would he have come from?” He stared ob- 
111 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


liquely off at a deep gully almost hidden by 
an adjoining ridge. 

“It’s been pretty near an hour since I shot 
that snake. I didn’t see no man about that 
time. If he was around here he must have 
heard my gun — an’ sloped.” He smiled and 
urged his pony about. “I reckon we’ll go look 
around that gully a little, Mustard,” he said. 

Half an hour later he rode down into the 
gully. After going some little distance he 
came across a dead cow, lying close to an 
overhanging rock rim. A bullet hole in the 
cow’s forehead told eloquently of the man- 
ner of her death. 

Ferguson dismounted and laid a hand on 
her side. The body was still warm. A 
four-months’ calf was nudging the mother 
with an inquisitive muzzle. Ferguson took 
a sharp glance at its ears and then drove it 
off to get a look at the brand. There was 
none. 

“Sleeper,” he said quietly. “With the Two 
Diamond ear-mark. Most range bosses 
make a mistake in not brandin’ their calves. 
Seems as if they’re trustin’ to luck that 
112 


THE FINDING OF THE ORPHAN 


rustlers won’t work on them. I must have 
scared this one off.” 

He swung into the saddle, a queer light in 
his eyes. “Mustard, old boy, we’re goin’ to 
Bear Flat. Mebbe Radford’s bangin’ 
around there now. An’ mebbe he ain’t. But 
we’re goin’ to see.” 

But he halted a moment to bend a pitying 
glance at the calf. 

“Poor little dogie,” he said; “poor little 
orphan. Losin’ your mother — just like a 
human bein’. I call that mean luck.” 

Then he was off. Mustard swinging in a 
steady lope down the gully and up toward 
the ridge that led to the river trail. 


113 


CHAPTER IX 


WOULD YOU BE A “CHARACTER”? 

T he sun was still a shimmering white 
blur in the great arc of sky when 
Ferguson rode around the corner of 
the cabin in Bear Flat, halted his pony, 
and sat quietly in the saddle before the door. 
His rapid eye had already swept the horse 
corral, the sheds, and the stable. If the 
horseman that he had seen riding along the 
ridge had been Radford he would not arrive 
for quite a little while. Meantime, he would 
learn from Miss Radford what direction the 
young man had taken on leaving the cabin. 

Ferguson was beginning to take an in- 
terest in this game. At the outset he had 
come prepared to carry out his contract. In 
his code of ethics it was not a crime to shoot 
114 


A ^THARACTER^’ 


a rustler. Experience had taught him that 
justice was to be secured only through 
drastic action. In the criminal category of 
the West the rustler took a place beside the 
horse thief and the man who shot from be- 
hind. 

But before taking any action Ferguson 
must be convinced of the guilt of the man 
he was hunting, and nothing had yet oc- 
curred that would lead him to suspect Rad- 
ford. He did not speculate on what course 
he would take should circumstances prove 
Radford to be the thief. Would the fact 
that he was Mary Radford’s brother affect 
his decision? He preferred to answer that 
question when the time came — ^if it ever 
came. One thing was certain; he was not 
shooting anyone unless the provocation was 
great. 

His voice was purposely loud when he 
called “Whoa, Mustard!” to his pony, but 
his eyes were not purposely bright and ex- 
pectant as they tried to penetrate the semi- 
darkness of the interior of the cabin for a 
glimpse of Miss Radford. 

115 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


He heard a movement presently, and she 
was at the door looking at him, her hands 
folded in her apron, her eyes wide with un- 
mistakable pleasure. 

“Why, I never expected to see you 
again!” she exclaimed. 

She came out and stood near the edge of 
the porch, making a determined attempt to 
subdue the flutter of excitement that was re- 
vealed in a pair of very bright eyes and a 
tinge of deep color in her cheeks. 

“Then I reckon you thought I had died, 
or stampeded out of this country?” he an- 
swered, grinning. “I told you I'd be cornin’ 
back here.” 

But the first surprise was over, and she 
very properly retired to the shelter of a de- 
murely polite reserve. 

“So you did!” she made reply. “You told 
me you were cornin’ over to see my brother. 
But he is not here now.” 

Had he been less wise he would have re- 
minded her that it had been she who had 
told him that he might come to see her 
brother. But to reply thus would have dis- 
116 


A ^THARACTER^^ 


comfited her and perhaps have brought a 
sharp reply. He had no doubt that some 
of the other Two Diamond men had made 
similar mistakes, but not he. He smiled 
broadly. “Mebbe I did,” he said ; “sometimes 
I’m mighty careless in handlin’ the truth. 
Mebbe I thought then that I’d come over to 
see your brother. But we have different 
thoughts at different times. You say your 
brother ain’t here now?” 

“He left early this morning to go down 
the river,” she informed him. “He said he 
would be back before sun-down.” 

His eyes narrowed perceptibly. “Down” 
the river meant that Radford’s trail led in 
the general direction of the spot where he 
had seen the fleeing horseman and the dead 
Two Diamond cow with her orphaned calf. 
Yet this proved nothing. Radford might 
easily have been miles away when the deed 
had been done. For the present there was 
nothing he could do, except to wait until 
Radford returned, to form whatever conclu- 
sions he might from the young man’s ap- 
pearance when he should And a Two Dia- 
IIT 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


mond man at the cabin. But anxiety to see 
the brother was not the only reason that 
would keep him waiting. 

He removed his hat and sat regarding it 
with a speculative eye. Miss Radford 
smiled knowingly. 

“I expect I have been scarcely polite,” she 
said. “Won’t you get off your horse?” 

“Why, yes,” he responded, obeying 
promptly; “I expect Mustard’s been 
doin’ a lot of wonderin’ why I didn’t get off 
before.” 

If he had meant to imply that her invita- 
tion had been tardy he had hit the mark 
fairly, for Miss Radford nibbled her lips 
with suppressed mirth. The underplay of 
meaning was not the only subtleness of the 
speech, for the tone in which it had been 
uttered was rich in interrogation, as though 
its author, while realizing the pony’s dim- 
ness of perception, half believed the animal 
had noticed Miss Radford’s lapse of hospi- 
tality. 

“I’m thinkin’ you are laughin’ at me 
again, ma’am,” he said as he came to the 
118 


A ^THARACTlUr 

edge of the porch and stood looking up at 
her, grinning. 

“Do you think I am laughing?” she ques- 
tioned, again biting her lips to keep them 
from twitching. 

“No-o. I wouldn’t say that you was 
laughin’ with your lips — laughin’ regular. 
But there’s a heap of it inside of you — tryin’ 
to get out.” 

“Don’t you ever laugh inwardly?” she 
questioned. 

He laughed frankly. “I expect there’s 
times when I do.” 

“But you haven’t lately?” 

“Well, no, I reckon not.” 

“Not even when you thought your horse 
might have noticed that I had neglected to 
invite you off?” 

“Did I think that?” he questioned. 

“Of course you did.” 

“Well, now,” he drawled. “An’ so you 
took that much interest in what I was think- 
in’! I reckon people who write must know 
a lot.” 

Her face expressed absolute surprise. 

119 


TWO-GUN MAN 

“Why, who told you that I wrote?” She 
questioned. 

“Nobody told me, ma’am. I just heard 
it. I heard a man tell another man that you 
had threatened to make him a character in a 
book you was writin’.” 

Her face was suddenly convulsed. “I 
imagine I know whom you mean,” she said. 
“A young cowboy from the Two Diamond 
used to annoy me quite a little, until one day 
I discouraged him.” 

His smile grew broad at this answer. But 
he grew serious instantly. 

“I don’t think there is much to write about 
in this country, ma’am,” he said. 

“You don’t? Why, I believe you are try- 
ing to discourage me!” 

“I reckon you won’t listen to me, ma’am, 
if you want to write. I’ve heard that any- 
one who writes is a special kind of a person 
an’ they just can’t help writin’ — any more’n 
I can help cornin’ over here to see your 
brother. You see, they like it a heap.” 

They both laughed, she because of the 
clever way in which he had turned the con- 
120 


A "CHARACTER” 


versation to his advantage; he through sheer 
delight. But she did purpose to allow him 
to dwell on the point he had raised, so she 
adroitly took up the thread where he had 
broken off to apply his similitude. 

“Some of that is true,” she returned, giv- 
ing him a look on her own account; “espe- 
cially about a writer loving his work. But I 
don’t think one needs to be a ‘special’ kind 
of person. One must be merely a keen ob- 
server.” 

He shook his head doubtfully. “I see 
everything that goes on around me,” he re- 
turned. “Most of the time I can tell pretty 
near what sort a man is by lookin’ at his 
face and watching the way he moves. But 
I reckon I’d never make a writer. Times 
when I look at this country — at a nice sun- 
set, for instance, or think what a big place 
this country is — I feel like sayin’ somethin’ 
about it; somethin’ inside of me seems kind 
of breathless-like — kind of scarin’ me. But 
I couldn’t write about it.” 

She had felt it, too, and more than once 
had sat down with her pencil to transcribe 
m 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


her thoughts. She thought that it was not ex- 
actly fear, but an overpowering realization 
of her own atomity ; a sort of cringing of the 
soul away from the utter vastness of the 
world; a growing consciousness of the un- 
limited bigness of things; an insight of the 
infinite power of God — the yearning of the 
soul for understanding of the mysteries of 
life and existence. 

She could sympathize with him, for she 
knew exactly how he had felt. She turned 
and looked toward the distant mountains, 
behind which the sun was just then swim- 
ming — a great ball of shimmering gold, 
which threw off an effulgent expanse of 
yellow light that was slowly turning into 
saffron and violet as it met the shadows be- 
low the hills. 

“Whoever saw such colors?” she asked 
suddenly, her face transfixed with sheer de- 
light. 

“It’s cert’nly pretty, ma’am.” 

She clapped her hands. “It is magnifi- 
cent!” she declared enthusiastically. She 
came closer to him and stretched an arm to- 
12 ^ 


A ^THARACTER^^ 


ward the mountains. “Look at that saffron 
shade which is just now blending with the 
streak of pearl striking the cleft between 
those hills! See the violet tinge that has 
come into that sea of orange, and the purple 
haze touching the snow-caps of the moun- 
tains. And now the flaming red, the deep 
yellow, the slate blue; and now that gauzy 
veil of lilac, rose, and amethyst, fading and 
^lulling as the darker shadows rise from the 
valleys 1” 

Her flashing eyes sought Ferguson’s. 
Twilight had suddenly come. 

“It is the most beautiful country in the 
world!” she said positively. 

He was regarding her with gravely 
humorous eyes. “It cert’nly is pretty, 
ma’am,” he returned. “But you can’t make 
a whole book out of one sunset.” 

Her eyes flashed. “No,” she returned. 
“Nor can I make a whole book out of only 
one character. But I am going to try and 
draw a word picture of the West by writing 
of the things that I see. And I am going to 
try and have some real characters in it. I 
123 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


shall try to have them talk and act natural- 
ly” 

She smiled suddenly and looked at him 
with a significant expression. '‘And the hero 
will not be an Easterner — to swagger 
through the pages of the book, scaring 
people into submission through the force of 
his compelling personality. He will be a 
cowboy who will do things after the manner 
of the country — a real, unaffected care-free 
puncher !” 

“Have you got your eye on such a man?” 
he asked, assuring himself that he knew of 
no man who would fill the requirements she 
had named. 

“I don’t mind telling you that I have,” 
she returned, looking straight at him. 

It suddenly burst upon him. His face 
crimsoned. He felt like bolting. But he 
managed to grin, though she could see that 
the grin was forced. 

“It’s gettin’ late, ma’am,” he said, as he 
turned toward his pony. “I reckon I’ll be 
gettin’ back to the Two Diamond.” 

She laughed mockingly as he settled into 


A ^THARACTER^^ 


the saddle. There was a clatter of hoofs 
from around the corner of the cabin. 

“Wait!” she commanded. “Ben is com- 
ing!” 

But there was a rush of wind that ruffled 
her apron, a clatter, and she could hear Mus- 
tard’s hoofs pounding over the matted mes- 
quite that carpeted the clearing. Ferguson 
had fled. 


125 


CHAPTER X 


DISAPPEARANCE OF THE ORPHAN 

D uring the night Ferguson had 
dreamed dreams. A girl with fluffy 
brown hair and mocking eyes had 
been the center of many mental pictures that 
had haunted him. He had seen her seated 
before him, rapidly plying a pencil. Once 
he imagined he had peered over her shoulder. 
He had seen a sketch of a puncher, upon 
which she appeared to be working, repre- 
senting a man who looked very like himself. 
He could remember that he had been much 
surprised. Did writers draw the pictures 
that appeared in their books ? 

This puncher was sitting in a chair ; 
one foot was bandaged. As he watched over 
the girl’s shoulder he saw the deft pencil 
126 


DISAPPEARANCE OF ORPHAN 


forming the outlines of another figure — a 
girl. As this sketch developed he saw that 
it was to represent Miss Radford herself. 
It was a clever pencil that the girl wielded, 
for the scene was strikingly real. He even 
caught subtle glances from her eyes. But 
as he looked the scene changed and the girl 
stood at the edge of the porch, her eyes 
mocking him. And then to his surprise she 
spoke. “I am going to put you into a book,” 
she said. 

Then he knew why she had tolerated him. 
He had grown hot and embarrassed. “You 
ain’t goin’ to put me in any book, ma’am,” 
he had said. “You ain’t givin’ me a square 
deal. I wouldn’t love no girl that would put 
me into a book.” 

He had seen a sudden scorn in her eyes. 
“Love!” she said, her lips curling. “Do you 
really believe that I would allow a puncher 
to make love to me?” 

And then the scene had changed again, 
and he was shooting the head off a rattler. 
“I don’t want you to love me !” he had de- 
clared to it. And then while the snake 
127 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


writhed he saw another head growing upon 
it, and a face. It was the face of Leviatt; 
and there was mockery in this face also. 
While he looked it spoke. 

“You’ll nurse him so’s he won’t die?” it 
had said. 

When he awakened his blood was surging 
with a riotous anger. The dream was 
bothering him now, as he rode away from 
the ranchhouse toward the gully where he 
had found the dead Two Diamond cow. He 
had not reported the finding of the dead 
cow, intending to return the next morning 
to look the ground over and to fetch the 
“dogie” back to the home ranch. It would 
be time enough then to make a report of the 
occurrence to Stafford. 

It was mid-morning when he finally 
reached the gully and rode down into it. He 
found the dead cow still there. He dis- 
mounted to drive away some crows that 
had gathered around the body. Then he 
noticed that the calf had disappeared. It 
had strayed, perhaps. A calf could not be 
depended upon to remain very long beside 
128 


DISAPPEARANCE OF ORPHAN 


its dead mother, though he had known cases 
where they had. But if it had strayed it 
could not be very far away. He remounted 
his pony and loped down the gully, reaching 
the ridge presently and riding along this, 
searching the surrounding country with keen 
glances. He could see no signs of the calf. 
He came to a shelf -rock presently, beside 
which grew a tangled gnarl of scrub-oak 
brush. Something lay in the soft sand and 
he dismounted quickly and picked up a 
leather tobacco pouch. He examined this 
carefully. There were no marks on it to tell 
who might be the owner. 

“A man who loses his tobacco in this 
country is mighty careless,” he observed, 
smiling; “or in pretty much of a hurry.” 

He went close to the thicket, looking down 
at it, searching the sand with interest. Pres- 
ently he made out the impression of a foot 
in a soft spot and, looking further, saw two 
furrows that might have been made by a 
man kneeling. He knelt in the furrows him- 
self and with one hand parted the brush. He 
smiled grimly as, peering into the gully, he 
129 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


saw the dead Two Diamond cow on the op- 
posite side. 

He stepped abruptly away from the 
thicket and looked about him. A few yards 
back there was a deep depression in the 
ridge, fringed with a growth of nondescript 
weed. He approached this and peered into 
it. Quite recently a horse had been there. 
He could plainly see the hoof -prints — where 
the animal had pawed impatiently. He re- 
turned to the thicket, convinced. 

“Some one was here yesterday when I was 
down there lookin’ at that cow,” he decided. 
“They was watchin’ me. That man I seen 
ridin’ that other ridge was with the one who 
was here. Now why didn’t this man slope 
too?” 

He stood erect, looking about him. Then 
he smiled. 

“Why, it’s awful plain,” he said. “The 
man who was on this ridge was watchin’. He 
heard my gun go off, when I shot that snake. 
I reckon he figgered that if he tried to ride 
away on this ridge whoever’d done the 
shootin’ would see him. An’ so he didn’t go. 

130 


DISAPPEARANCE OF ORPHAN 


He stayed right here an’ watched me when 
I rode up.” He smiled. ‘‘There ain’t no 
use lookin’ for that dogie. The man that 
stayed here has run him off.” 

There was nothing left for Ferguson to 
do. He mounted and rode slowly along the 
ridge, examining the tobacco pouch. And 
then suddenly he discovered something that 
brought an interested light to his eyes. Be- 
neath the greasy dirt on the leather he could 
make out the faint outlines of two letters. 
Time had almost obliterated these, but by 
moistening his fingers and rubbing the dirt 
from the leather he was able to trace them. 
They had been burned in, probably branded 
with a miniature iron. 

“D. L,” he spelled. 

He rode on again, his lips straightening 
into serious lines. 

He mentally catalogued the names he had 
heard since coming to the Two Diamond. 
None answered for the initials “D. L.” It 
was evident that the pouch could belong to 
no one but Dave Leviatt. In that case what 
had Leviatt been doing on the ridge? Why, 
131 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


he had been watching the rustler, of course. 
In that case the man must be known to him. 
But what had become of the dogie? What 
would have been Leviatt’s duty, after the de- 
parture of the rustlers ? Obviously to drive 
the calf to the herd and report the occurrence 
to the manager. 

Leviatt may have driven the calf to the 
herd, but assuredly he had not reported the 
occurrence to the manager, for he had not 
been in to the ranchhouse. Why not? 

Ferguson pondered long over this, while 
his pony traveled the river trail toward the 
ranchhouse. Finally he smiled. Of course, 
if the man on the ridge had been Leviatt, he 
must have been there still when Ferguson 
came up, or he would not have been there to 
drive the Two Diamond calf to the herd 
after Ferguson had departed. In that case 
he must have seen Ferguson, and must be 
waiting for the latter to make the report to 
the manager. But what motive would he 
have in this? 

Here was more mystery. Ferguson 
might have gone on indefinitely arranging 
132 


DISAPPEARANCE OF ORPHAN 


motives, but none of them would have 
brought him near the truth. 

He could, however, be sure of three 
things. Leviatt had seen the rustler and 
must know him ; he had seen Ferguson, and 
knew that he knew that a rustler had been in 
the gully before him; and for some myste- 
rious reason he had not reported to the man- 
ager. But Ferguson had one advantage 
that pleased him, even drew a grim smile to 
his lips as he rode on his way. Leviatt may 
have seen him near the dead Two Diamond 
cow, but he certainly was not aware that 
Ferguson knew he himself had been there 
during the time that the rustler had been at 
work. 

Practically, of course, this knowledge 
would avail Ferguson little. Yet it was a 
good thing to know, for Leviatt must have 
some reason for secrecy, and if anything de- 
veloped later Ferguson would know exactly 
where the range boss stood in the matter. 

Determined to investigate as far as pos- 
sible, he rode down the river for a few miles, 
finally reaching a broad plain where the 
133 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


cattle were feeding. Some cowboys were 
scattered over this plain, and before riding 
very far Ferguson came upon Rope. The 
latter spurred close to him, grinning. 

“I’m right glad to see you,” said the 
puncher. “You’ve been keepin’ yourself 
pretty scarce. Scared of another run-in with 
Leviatt?” 

“Plum scared,” returned Ferguson. “I 
reckon that man’ll make me nervous — ^give 
him time.” 

“Yu’ don’t say?” grinned Rope. “I 
wasn’t noticin’ that you was worryin’ about 
him.” 

“I’m right flustered,” returned Ferguson. 
“Where’s he now?” 

“Gone down the crick — ^with Tucson.” 

Ferguson smoothed Mustard’s mane. 
“Leviatt been with you right along?” 

“He went up the crick yesterday,” re- 
turned Rope, looking quickly at the stray- 
man. 

“Went alone, I reckon?” 

“With Tucson.” Rope was trying to con- 
ceal his interest in these questions. 

134 } 


DISAPPEARANCE OF ORPHAN 


But apparently Ferguson’s interest was 
only casual. He turned a quizzical eye up- 
on Rope. “You an’ Tucson gettin’ along?” 
he questioned. 

“Me an’ him’s of the same mind about one 
thing,” returned Rope. 

“Well, now.” Ferguson’s drawl was 
pregnant with humor. “You surprise me. 
An’ so you an’ him have agreed. I reckon 
you ain’t willin’ to tell me what you’ve 
agreed about?” 

“I’m sure tellin’,” grinned Rope. “Me 
an’ him’s each dead certain that the other’s a 
low down horse thief.” 

The eyes of the two men met fairly. Both 
smiled. 

“Then I reckon you an’ Tucson are lovin’ 
one another about as well as me an’ Leviatt,” 
observed Ferguson. 

“There ain’t a turruble lot of difference,” 
agreed Rope. 

“An’ so Tucson’s likin’ you a heap,” 
drawled Ferguson absently. He gravely 
contemplated the puncher. “I expect you 
>vas a long ways off yesterday when Leviatt 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


an’ Tucson come in from up the crick?” he 
asked. 

“Not a turruble ways off,” returned Rope. 
“I happened to have this end an’ they passed 
right close to me. They clean forgot to 
speak.” 

“Well, now,” said Ferguson. “That was 
sure careless of them. But I reckon they 
was busy at somethin’ when they passed. In 
that case they wouldn’t have time to speak. 
I’ve heard tell that some folks can’t do 
more’n one thing at a time.” 

Rope laughed. “They was puttin’ in a 
heap of their time tryin’ to make me believe 
they didn’t see me,” he returned. “Other- 
wise they wasn’t doin’ anything.” 

“Shucks !” declared Ferguson heavily. “I 
reckon them men wouldn’t go out of their 
way to drive a poor little dogie in off the 
range. They’re that hard hearted.” 

“Correct,” agreed Rope. “You ain’t 
missin’ them none there.” 

Ferguson smiled, urging his pony about. 
“I’m figgerin’ on gettin’ back to the Two 
Diamond,” he said. He rode a few feet 
136 


DISAPPEARANCE OF ORPHAN 


and then halted, looking back over his 
shoulder. “You ain’t givin’ Tucson no 
chancst to say you drawed first?” he 
warned. 

Rope laughed grimly. “If there’s any 
shootin’ goin’ on,” he replied, “Tucson ain’t 
goin’ to say nothin’ after it’s over.” 

“Well, so-long,” said Ferguson, urging 
his pony forward. He heard Rope’s answer, 
and then rode on, deeply concerned over his 
discovery. 

Leviatt and Tucson had ridden up the 
river the day before. They had returned 
empty handed. And so another link had 
been added to the chain of mystery. Where 
was the dogie? 


1S7 


CHAPTER XI 


A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR 

A FEW months before her first meet- 
ing with Ferguson, Mary Radford 
had come West with the avowed 
purpose of “absorbing enough local color for 
a Western novel.” Friends in the East had 
encouraged her; an uncle (her only remain- 
ing relative, beside her brother) had assisted 
her. So she had come. 

The uncle (under whose care she had been 
since the death of her mother, ten years be- 
fore) had sent her to a medical college, de- 
termined to make her a finished physician. 
But Destiny had stepped in. Quite by ac- 
cident Miss Radford had discovered that she 
could write,- and the uncle’s hope that she 
might one day grace the medical profession 
ISS 


A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR 


had gone glimmering — completely buried 
under a mass of experimental manuscript. 

He professed to have still a ray of hope 
until after several of the magazines had ac- 
cepted Mary’s work. Then hope died and 
was succeeded by silent acquiescence and 
patient resignation. Having a knowledge 
of human nature far beyond that possessed 
by the average person, the uncle had realized 
that if Mary’s inclination led to literature it 
was worse than useless to attempt to interest 
her in any other profession. Therefore, when 
she had announced her intention of going 
West he had interposed no objection; on 
the contrary had urged her to the venture. 
What might have been his attitude had not 
Ben Radford been already in the West is 
problematical. Very seldom do we decide 
a thing until it confronts us. 

Mary Radford had been surprised at the 
West. From Ben’s cabin in the flat she had 
made her first communion with this new 
world that she had worshipped at first sight. 
It was as though she had stepped out of an 
old world into one that was just experien- 
139 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


cing the dawn of creation’s first morning. 
At least so it had seemed to her on the morn- 
ing she had first stepped outside her broth- 
er’s cabin to view her first sunrise. 

She had breathed the sweet, moisture- 
laden breezes that had seemed to almost steal 
over the fiat where she had stood watching 
the shadows yield to the coming sun. The 
somber hills had become slowly outlined ; the 
snow caps of the distant mountain peaks 
glinted with the brilliant shafts that struck 
them and refiected into the dark recesses be- 
low. Nature was king here and showed its 
power in a mysterious, though convincing 
manner. 

In the evening there would come a change. 
Through rifts in the mountains descended 
the sun, spreading an effulgent expanse of 
yellow light — like burnished gold. In the 
shadows were refiected numerous colors, all 
quietly blended, making contrasts of perfect 
harmony. There were the sinuous buttes 
that bordered the opposite shore of the river 
— solemn sentinels guarding the beauty and 
purity of this virgin land. Near her were 
140 


A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOB 


sloping hills, dotted with thorny cactus and 
other prickly plants, and now rose a bald 
rock spire with its suggestion of grim lone- 
someness. In the southern and eastern 
distances were the plains, silent, vast, unend- 
ing. It seemed she had come to dwell in a 
land deserted by some Cyclopean race. Its 
magnificent, unchanging beauty had en- 
thralled her. 

She had not lacked company. She found 
that the Two Diamond punchers were eager 
to gain her friendship. Marvelous excuses 
were invented for their appearance at the 
cabin in the fiat. She thought that Ben’s 
friendship was valued above that of all other 
persons in the surrounding country. 

But she found the punchers gentlemen. 
Though their conversation was unique and 
their idioms picturesque, they compared 
favorably with the men she had known in the 
East. Did they lack the subtleties, they 
made up for this by their unfailing defer- 
ence. And they were never rude ; their very 
bashfulness prevented that. 

Through them she came to know much of 
141 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


many things. They contrived to acquaint 
her with the secretive peculiarities of the 
prairie dog, and — when she would listen with 
more than ordinary attention — they would 
loose their wonderful imaginations in the 
hope of continuing the conversation. Then 
it was that the subject under discussion 
would receive exhaustive, and altogether un- 
necessary, elucidation. The habits of the 
prairie-dog were not alone betrayed to the 
ears of the young lady. The sage-fowl’s in- 
herent weaknesses were paraded before her; 
the hoot of the owl was imitated with 
ludicrous solemnity; other fowl were de- 
scribed with wonderful attention to detail; 
and the inevitable rattlesnake was pointed 
out to her as a serpent whose chief occupa- 
tion in life was that of posing in the shadow 
of the sage-brush as a target for the revolver 
of the cowpuncher. 

The quaintness of the cowboy speech, his 
incomparable bashfulness, amused her, while 
she was strangely affected by his earnest- 
ness. She attended to the chickens and imme- 
diately her visitors became interested in them 
142 


A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR 


and fell to discussing them as though they 
had done nothing all their days but build 
hen-houses and runways. But she had them 
on botany. The flower beds were deep, un- 
fathomable mysteries to them, and they 
stood afar while she cultivated the more diffi- 
cult plants and encouraged the hardier to 
increased beauty. 

But she had not been content to view this 
land of mystery from her brother’s cabin. 
The dignity of nature had cast its thrall upon 
her. She was impressed with the sublimity 
of the climate, the wonderful sunshine, the 
crystal light of the days and the quiet peace 
and beauty of the nights. The lure of the 
plains had taken her upon long rides, and the 
cottonwood, filling a goodly portion of the 
flat, was the scene of many of her explora- 
tions. 

The pony with which her brother had pro- 
vided her was — Ben Radford declared — a 
shining example of sterling horse-honesty. 
She did not know that Ben knew horses quite 
as well as he knew men or she would not 
have allowed him to see the skeptical glance 
143 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


she had thrown over the drowsy-eyed beast 
that he saddled for her. But she was over- 
joyed at finding the pony all that her brother 
had said of it. The little animal was tireless, 
and often, after a trip over the plains, or to 
Dry Bottom to mail a letter, she would re- 
turn by a roundabout trail. 

Meanwhile the novel still remained un- 
written. Perhaps she had not yet “ab- 
sorbed” the “local color”; perhaps inspira- 
tion was tardy. At all events she had not 
written a word. But she was beginning to 
realize the possibilities; deep in her soul 
something was moving that would presently 
flow from her pen. 

It would not be commonplace — that she 
knew. Real people would move among the 
pages of her book; real deeds would be done. 
And as the days passed she decided. She 
would write herself into her book; there 
would be the first real character. The story 
would revolve about her and another char- 
acter — a male one — upon whom she had not 
decided — until the appearance of Ferguson. 
After he had come she was no longer 
144 


un- 


A T OUCH OF LOCAL COLOR 

decided — she would make him the hero of 
her story. 

The villriiu she had already met — ^in 
Leviatt. Something about this man was re- 
pellant. She already had a description of 
him in the note book that she always car- 
ried. Had Leviatt read the things she had 
written of him he would have discontinued 
his visits to the cabin. 

Several of the Two Diamond punchers, 
also, were noted as being possible secondary 
characters. She had found them very amus- 
ing. But the hero would be the one char- 
acter to whom she would devote the concen- 
trated effort of her mind. She would make 
him live in the pages ; a real, forceful mag- 
netic human being that the reader would in- 
stantly admire. She would bare his soul to 
the reader; she would reveal his mental 
processes — not involved, but leading straight 
and true to 

But would she? Had she not so far dis- 
covered a certain craftiness in the character 
of the Two Diamond stray-man that would 
indicate subtlety of thought? 

145 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


This knowledge had been growing grad- 
ually upon her since their second meeting, 
and it had become an obstacle that prom- 
ised difficulties. Of course she could make 
Ferguson talk and act as she pleased — in the 
book. But if she wanted a real character 
she would have to portray him as he was. 
To do this would require study. Serious 
study of any character would inspire faith- 
ful delineation. 

She gave much thought to him now, keep- 
ing this purpose in view. She questioned 
Ben concerning him, but was unable to gain 
satisfying information. He had been hired 
by Stafford, her brother told her, holding 
the position of stray-man. 

‘T Ve seen him once, down the other side 
of the cottonwood,” the young man had said. 
“He ain’t saying much to anyone. Seems 
to be a quiet sort — and deep. Pretty good 
sort though.” 

She was pleased over Ben’s brief estimate 
of the stray-man. It vindicated her judg- 
ment. Besides, it showed that her brother 
was not averse to friendship with him. 

146 


A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR 


Leviatt she saw with her brother often, 
and occasionally he came to the cabin. His 
attitude toward her was one of frank ad- 
miration, but he had received no encourage- 
ment. How could he know that he was go- 
ing to be the villain in her book — soon to be 
written? 

Shall we take a peep into that mysterious 
note book? Yes, for later we shall see paudr'^ 
of it. 

“Dave Leviatt,” she had written in one 
place. “Age thirty-five. Tall, slender; 
walks with a slight stoop. One rather gets 
the impression that the stoop is a refiection 
of the man’s nature, which seems vindictive 
and suggests a low cunning. His eyes are 
small, deep set, and glitter when he talks. 
But they are steady, and cold — almost merci- 
less. One’s thoughts go instantly to the 
tiger. I shall try to create that impression 
in the reader’s mind.” 

In another place she had jotted this down : 

“I shouldn’t want anyone killed in my book, 
but if I find this to be necessary Leviatt 
must do the murder. But I think it would 
147 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


be better to have him employ some other 
person to do it for him; that would give him 
just the character that would fit him best. I 
want to make him seem too cowardly — ^no, 
not cowardly, because I don’t think he is a 
coward; but too cunning — to take chances 
of being caught.” 

Evidently she had been questioning Ben, 
for in another place she had written: 

“Ferguson. I must remember this — all 
cowboys do not carry two guns. Ben does, 
because he says he is ambidextrous, shooting 
equally well with either hand. But he does 
not tie the bottoms of his holsters down, like 
Ferguson; he says some men do this, but 
usually they are men who are exceptionally 
rapid in getting their revolvers out and that 
tying down the bottoms of the holsters facili- 
tates removing the weapons. They are ac- 
counted to be dangerous men. 

“Ben says when a man is quick to shoot 
out here he is called a gun-man, and that if 
he carries two revolvers he is a two-gun man. 
Ben laughs at me when I speak of a ‘re- 
volver’ ; they are known merely as ‘guns’ out 
148 


A TOUCH OF LOCAL COLOR 


here. I must remember this. Ben says that 
though he likes Ferguson quite well, he is 
rather suspicious of him. He seems to be 
unable to understand why Stafford should 
employ a two-gun man to look up stray 
cows.” 

Below this appeared a brief reference to 
Ferguson. 

“He is not a bit conceited — ^rather bashful, 
I should say. But embarrassment in him is 
attractive. !N^o hero should be conceited. 
There is a wide difference between im- 
pertinence and frankness. Ferguson seems 
to speak frankly, but with a subtle shade. I 
think this is a very agreeable trait for a 
hero in a novel.” 

There followed more interesting scraps 
concerning Leviatt, which would have caused 
the range boss many bad moments. And 
there were interesting bits of description — 
jotted down when she became impressed 
with a particularly odd view of the country. 
But there were no more references to Fer- 
guson. He — being the hero of her novel — 
must be studied thoroughly. 

149 


CHAPTER XII 


THE STORY BEGINS 


M ISS RADFORD tied her pony to 
the trunk of a slender fir-balsam and 
climbed to the summit of a small 
hill. There were some trees, quite a bit of 
grass, some shrubbery, on the hill — and no 
snakes. She made sure of this before seat- 
ing herself upon a little shelf of rock, near 
a tall cedar. 

Half a mile down the river she could see 
a corner of Ben’s cabin, a section of the 
corral fence, and one of the small outbuild- 
ings. Opposite the cabin, across the river, 
rose the buttes that met her eyes always 
when she came to the cabin door. This hill 
upon which she sat was one that she saw 
often, when in the evening, watching the 
150 


THE STORY BEGINS 


setting sun, she followed its golden rays with 
her eyes. Many times, as the sun had gone 
slowly down into a rift of the mountains, 
she had seen the crest of this hill shimmering 
in a saffron light; the only spot in the flat 
that rose above the somber, oncoming 
shadows of the dusk. 

From here, it seemed, began the rose veil 
that followed the broad saffron shaft that 
led straight to the mountains. Often, watch- 
ing the beauty of the hill during the long 
sunset, she had felt a deep awe stirring her. 
Romance was here, and mystery; it was a 
spot favored by the Sun-Gods, who sur- 
rounded it with a glorious halo, lingeringly, 
reluctantly withdrawing as the long shadows 
of the twilight crept over the face of the 
world. 

It was not her first visit to the hill. Many 
times she had come here, charmed with the 
beauty of the view, and during one of those 
visits she had decided that seated on the shelf 
rock on the summit of the hill she would 
write the first page of the book. It was for 
dhis purpose that she had now come. 

151 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


After seating herself she opened a small 
handbag, producing therefrom many sheets 
of paper, a much-thumbed copy of Shake- 
speare, and a pencil. She was tempted to 
begin with a description of the particular bit 
of country upon which she looked, for long 
ago she had decided upon Bear Flat for the 
locale of the story. But she sat long nibbling 
at the end of the pencil, delaying the begin- 
ning for fear of being unable to do justice 
to it. 

She began at length, making several false 
starts and beginning anew. Finally came a 
paragraph that remained. Evidently this 
was satisfactory, for another paragraph fol- 
lowed; and then another, and still another. 
Presently a complete page. Then she looked 
up with a long-drawn sigh of relief. The 
start had been made. 

She had drawn a word picture of the flat ; 
dwelling upon the solitude, the desolation, 
the vastness, the swimming sunlight, the ab- 
sence of life and movement. But as she 
looked, critically comparing what she had 
written with the reality, there came a move- 
162 


THE STORY BEGINS 


merit — a horseman had ridden into her pic- 
ture. He had come down through a little 
gully that led into the flat and was loping 
his pony through the deep saccatone grass 
toward the cabin. 

It couldn’t be Ben. Ben had told her that 
he intended riding some thirty miles down 
the river and he couldn’t be returning al- 
ready. She leaned forward, watching intent- 
ly, the story forgotten. 

The rider kept steadily on for a quarter of 
an hour. Then he reached the clearing in 
which the cabin stood; she saw him ride 
through it and disappear. Five minutes 
later he reappeared, hesitated at the edge of 
the clearing and then urged his pony to- 
ward the hill upon which she sat. As he rode 
out of the shadows of the trees within an 
eighth of a mile of her the sunlight shone 
fairly upon the pony. She would have 
known Mustard among many other ponies. 

She drew a sudden, deep breath and sat 
erect, tucking back some stray wisps of hair 
from her forehead. Did the rider see her? 

For a moment it seemed that the answer 
153 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


would be negative, for he disappeared be- 
hind some dense shrubbery on the plain be- 
low and seemed to be on the point of passing 
the hill. But just at the edge of the shrub- 
bery Mustard suddenly swerved and came 
directly toward her. Through the corners of 
her eyes she watched while Ferguson dis- 
mounted, tied Mustard close to her own 
animal, and stood a moment quietly regard- 
ing her. 

“You want to look at the country all by 
yourself?” he inquired. 

She pretended a start, looking down at 
him in apparent surprise. 

“Why,” she prevaricated, “I thought 
there was no one within miles of me!” 

She saw his eyes flash in the sunlight. “Of 
course,” he drawled, “there’s such an awful 
darkness that no one could see a pony cornin’ 
across the flat. You think you’ll be able to 
And your way home?” 

She flushed guiltily and did not reply. She 
heard him clambering up over the loose 
stones, and presently he stood near her. She 
made a pretense of writing. 

154. 


THE STORY BEGINS 


“Did you stop at the cabin?” she asked 
without looking up. 

He regarded her with amused eyes, stand- 
ing loosely, his arms folded, the fingers of 
his right hand pulling at his chin. “Did I 
stop?” he repeated. “I couldn’t rightly say. 
Seems to me as though I did. You see, I 
didn’t intend to, but I was ridin’ down that 
way an’ I thought I’d stop in an’ have a 
talk with Ben.” 

“Oh!” Sometimes even a monosyllable is 
pregnant with mockery. 

“But he wasn’t there. Nobody was there. 
I wasn’t reckonin’ on everybody runnin’ 
off.” 

She turned and looked straight at him. 
“Why,” she said, “I shouldn’t think our run- 
ning away would surprise you. You see, 
you set us an example in running away the 
other day.” 

He knew instantly that she referred to his 
precipitate retreat on the night she had 
hinted that she intended putting him into 
her story. She shot another glance at him 
and saw his face redden with embarrass- 
155 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


merit, but he showed no intention of running 
now. 

“IVe been thinkin’ of what you said,” he 
returned. “You couldn’t put me into no 
book. You don’t know anything about me. 
You don’t know what I think. Then how 
could you do it?” 

“Of course,” she returned, turning square- 
ly around to him and speaking seriously, 
“the story will be fiction, and the plot will 
have no foundation in fact. But I shall be 
very careful to have my characters talk and 
act naturally. To do this I shall have to 
study the people whom I wish to char- 
acterize.” 

He was moved by an inward mirth. 
“You’re still thinkin’ of puttin’ me into the 
book?” he questioned. 

She nodded, smiling. 

“Then,” he said, very gravely, “you hadn’t 
ought to have told me. You didn’t show so 
clever there. Ain’t you afraid that I’ll go 
to actin’ swelled? If I do that, you’d not 
have the character you wanted.” 

“I had thought of that, too,” she returned 
156 


THE STORY BEGINS 


seriously. “If you were that kind of a man 
I shouldn’t want you in the book. How do 
you know that I haven’t told you for the 
purpose of discovering if you would be af- 
fected in that manner?” 

He scratched his head, contemplating her 
gravely. “I reckon you’re travelin’ too fast 
for me, ma’am,” he said. 

His expression of frank amusement was 
good to see. He stood before her, plainly 
ready to surrender. Absolutely boyish, he 
seemed to her — a grown-up boy to be sure, 
but with a boy’s enthusiasms, impulses, and 
generosity. Yet in his eyes was something 
that told of maturity, of conscious power, of 
perfect trust in his ability to give a good ac- 
count of himself, even in this country where 
these qualities constituted the chief rule of 
life. 

A strange emotion stirred her, a sudden 
quickening of the pulse told her that some- 
thing new had come into her life. She drew 
a deep, startled breath and felt her cheeks 
crimsoning. She swiftly turned her head 
and gazed out over the flat, leaving him 
157 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


standing there, scarcely comprehending her 
embarrassment. 

“I reckon you’ve been writin’ some of that 
book, ma’am,” he said, seeing the papers ly- 
ing on the rock beside her. “I don’t see why 
you should want to write a Western story. 
Do folks in the East get interested in know- 
in’ what’s goin’ on out here?” 

She suddenly thought of herself. Had 
she found it interesting? She looked swiftly 
at him, appraising him from a new view- 
point, feeling a strange, new interest in him. 

“It would be strange if they didn’t,” she 
returned. “Why, it is the only part of the 
country in which there still remains a touch 
of romance. You must remember that this 
is a young country ; that its history began at 
a comparatively late date. England can 
write of its feudal barons; France of its an- 
cient aristocracy ; but America can look back 
only to the Colonial period — and the West.” 

“Mebbe you’re right,” he said, not con- 
vinced. “But I expect there ain’t a heap of 
romance out here. Leastways, if there is it 
manages to keep itself pretty well hid.” 

158 


THE STORY BEGINS 


She smiled, thinking of the romance that 
surrounded him — of which, plainly, he was 
not conscious. To him, romance meant the 
lights, the crowds, the amusements, the 
glitter and tinsel of the cities of the East, 
word of which had come to him through va- 
rious channels. To her these things were no 
longer novel, — ^if they had ever been so — 
and so for her romance must come from the 
new, the unusual, the unconventional. The 
West was all this, therefore romance dwelt 
here. 

“Of course it all seems commonplace to 
you,” she returned; “perhaps even monot- 
onous. For you have lived here long.” 

He laughed. “IVe traveled a heap.” he 
said. “IVe been in California, Dakota, 
Wyoming, Texas, an’ Arizona. An’ now 
I’m here. Savin’ a man meets different 
people, this country is pretty much all the 
same.” 

“You must have had a great deal of ex- 
perience,” she said. “And you are not very 
old.” 

He gravely considered her. “I would say 
159 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


that I am about the average age for this 
country. You see, folks don’t live to get 
very old out here — ^unless they’re mighty 
careful.” 

“And you haven’t been careful?” 

He smiled gravely, “I expect you 
wouldn’t call it careful. But I’m still livin’.” 

His words were singularly free from 
boast. 

“That means that you have escaped the 
dangers,” she said. “I have heard that a 
man’s safety in this country depends largely 
upon his ability to shoot quickly and ac- 
curately. I suppose you are accounted a 
good shot?” 

The question was too direct. His eyes 
narrowed craftily. 

“I expect you’re thinkin’ of that book 
now ma’am,” he said. “There’s a heap of 
men c’n shoot. You might say they’re all 
good shots. I’ve told you about the men 
who can’t shoot good. They’re either 
mighty careful, or they ain’t here any more. 
It’s always one or the other.” 

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, shuddering 
160 


THE STORY BEGINS 


slightly. “In that case I suppose the hero 
in my story will have to be a good shot.” She 
laughed. “I shouldn’t want him to get half 
way through the story and then be killed be- 
cause he was clumsy in handling his weapon. 
I am beginning to believe that I shall have 
to make him a ‘two-gun’ man. I understand 
they are supposed to be very good shots.” 

“I’ve seen them that wasn’t,” he returned 
gravely and shortly. 

“How did you prove that?” she asked 
suddenly. 

But he was not to be snared. “I didn’t 
say I’d proved it,” he stated. “But I’ve 
seen it proved.” 

“How proved?” 

“Why,” he said, his eyes glinting with 
amusement, “they ain’t here any more, 
ma’am.” 

“Oh. Then it doesn’t follow that because 
a man wears two guns he is more likely to 
survive than is the man who wears only 
one?” 

“I reckon not, ma’am.” 

“I see that you have the bottoms of your 
161 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


holsters tied down,” she said, looking at 
them. “Why have you done that?” 

“Well,” he declared, drawling his words a 
little, “I’ve always found that there ain’t 
any use of takin’ chances on an accident. 
You mightn’t live to tell about it. An’ hav- 
in’ the bottoms of your holsters tied down 
keeps your guns from snaggin’. I’ve seen 
men whose guns got snagged when they 
wanted to use them. They wasn’t so active 
after.” 

“Then I shall have to make my hero a 
‘two-gun’ man,” she said. “That is de- 
cided. Now, the next thing to do is to give 
some attention to his character. I think he 
ought to be absolutely fearless and honest 
and incapable of committing a dishonorable 
deed. Don’t you think so?” 

While they had talked he had come closer 
to her and stood beside the shelf rock, one 
foot resting on it. At her question he 
suddenly looked down at the foot, shifting it 
nervously, while a flush started from above 
the blue scarf at his throat and slowly 
suffused his face. 


162 


THE STORY BEGINS 


“Don’t you think so?” she repeated, her 
eyes meeting his for an instant. 

“Why, of course, ma’am,” he suddenly an- 
swered, the words coming sharply, as though 
he had only at that instant realized the im- 
port of the question. 

“Why,” said she, aware of his embarrass- 
ment, “don’t you think there are such men?” 

“I expect there are, ma’am,” he returned; 
“but in this country there’s a heap of argu- 
ment could be made about what would be 
dishonorable. If your two-gun should hap- 
pen to be a horse thief, or a rustler, I reckon 
we could get at it right off.” 

“He shan’t be either of those,” she de- 
clared stoutly. “I don’t think he would 
stoop to such contemptible deeds. In the 
story he is employed by a ranch owner to 
kill a rustler whom the owner imagines has 
been stealing his cattle.” 

His hands were suddenly behind him, the 
fingers clenched. His eyes searched her face 
with an alert, intense gaze. His embarrass- 
ment was gone; his expression was satur- 
nine, his eyes narrowed with a slight mock- 
163 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


ery. And his voice came, cold, deliberate, 
even. 

“I reckon you’ve got your gun-man true 
to life, ma’am,” he said. 

She laughed lightly, amused over the 
sudden change that she saw and felt in him. 
“Of course the gun-man doesn’t really in- 
tend to kill the rustler,” she said. “I don’t 
believe I shall have any one killed in the 
story. The gun-man is merely attracted by 
the sum of money promised him by the 
ranch owner, and when he accepts it is only 
because he is in dire need of work. Don’t 
you think that could be possible?” 

“That could happen easy in this country, 
ma’am,” he returned. 

She laughed delightedly. “That vindi- 
cates my judgment,” she declared. 

He was regarding her with unwavering 
eyes. “Is that gun-man goin’ to be the hero 
in your story, ma’am?” he asked quietly. 

“Why, of course.” 

“An’ I’m to be him?” 

She gave him a defiant glance, though she 
blushed immediately. 

164. 


THE STORY BEGINS 


“Why do you ask?” she questioned in 
reply. “You need have no fear that I will 
compel my hero to do anything dishonor- 
able.” 

“I ain’t fearin’ anything,” he returned. 
“But I’d like to know how you come to think 
of that. Do writers make them things up 
out of their own minds, or does someone tell 
them?” 

“Those things generally have their origin 
in the mind of the writer,” she replied. 

“Meanin’ that you thought of that your- 
self?” he persisted. 

“Of course.” 

He lifted his foot from the rock and stood 
looking gravely at her. “In most of the 
books I have read there’s always a villain. 
I reckon you’re goin’ to have one?” 

“There will be a villain,” she returned. 

His eyes flashed queerly. “Would you 
mind tellin’ me who you have picked out for 
your villain?” he continued. 

“I don’t mind,” she said. “It is Leviatt.” 

He suddenly grinned broadly and held out 
his right hand to her. “Shake, ma’am,” he 
165 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


said. “I reckon if I was writin’ a book 
Leviatt would be the villain.” 

She rose from the rock and took his out- 
stretched hand, her eyes drooping as they 
met his. He felt her hand tremble a little, 
and he looked at it, marveling. She glanced 
up, saw him looking at her hand, swiftly 
withdrew it, and turned from him, looking 
down into the flat at the base of the hill. 
She started, uttering the sharp command: 
“Look!” 

Perhaps a hundred yards distant, sitting 
on his pony in a lounging attitude, was a 
horseman. While they looked the horseman 
removed his broad brimmed hat, bowed 
mockingly, and urged his pony out into the 
flat. It was Leviatt. 

On the slight breeze a laugh floated back 
to them, short, sharp, mocking. 

For a time they stood silent, watching the 
departing rider. Then Ferguson’s lips 
wreathed into a feline smile. 

“Kind of dramatic, him ridin’ up that-a- 
way,” he said. “Don’t you think puttin’ him 
in the book will spoil it, ma’am?” 

166 


CHAPTER XIII 


“do you smoke?” 

L EVIATT rode down through the 
gully where Miss Radford had first 
caught sight of Ferguson when he 
had entered the flat. He disappeared in this 
and five minutes later came out upon a ridge 
above it. The distance was too great to ob- 
serve whether he turned to look back. But 
just before he disappeared finally they saw 
him sweep his hat from his head. It was a 
derisive motion, and Miss Radford colored 
and shot a furtive glance at Ferguson. 

The latter stood loosely beside her, his hat 
brim pulled well down over his forehead. 
As she looked she saw his eyes narrow and 
his lips curve ironically. 

“What do you suppose he thought?” she 
questioned, her eyes drooping away from his. 
167 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


‘‘Him?” Ferguson laughed. “I expect 
you could see from his actions that he wasn’t 
a heap tickled.” Some thought was moving 
him mightily. He chuckled gleefully. “Now 
if you could only put what he was thinkin’ 
into your book, ma’am, it sure would make 
interestin’ readin’.” 

“But he saw you holding my hand!” she 
declared, aware of the uselessness of telling 
him this, but unable to repress her indigna- 
tion over the thought that Leviatt had seen. 

“Why, I expect he did, ma’am!” he re- 
turned, trying hard to keep the pleasure out 
of his voice. “You see, he must have been 
lookin’ right at us. But there ain’t nothin’ 
to be flustered over. I reckon that some 
day, if he’s around, he’ll see me holdin’ your 
hand again.” 

The red in her cheeks deepened. “Why, 
how conceited you are!” she said, trying to 
be very severe, but only succeeding in mak- 
ing him think that her eyes were prettier 
than he had thought. 

“I don’t think I am conceited, ma’am,” he 
returned, smiling. “I’ve liked you right 
168 


YOU SMOKE? 


well since the beginning. I don’t think it’s 
conceit to tell a lady that you’re thinkin’ of 
holdin’ her hand.” 

She was looking straight at him, trying to 
be very defiant. “And so you have liked me?” 
she taunted. “I am considering whether 
to tell you that I was not thinking of you 
as a possible admirer.” 

His eyes flashed. “I don’t think you mean 
that, ma’am,” he said. “You ain’t treated 
me like you treated some others.” 

“Some others?” she questioned, not com- 
prehending. 

He laughed. “Them other Two Diamond 
men that took a shine to you. I’ve heard 
that you talked right sassy to them. But 
you ain’t never been sassy to me. Least- 
ways, you ain’t never told me to ‘evap- 
orate’.” 

She was suddenly convulsed. “They 
have told you that?” she questioned. And 
then not waiting for an answer she con- 
tinued more soberly : “And so you thought 
that in view of what I have said to those 
men you had been treated comparatively 
169 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


civilly. I am afraid I have underestimated 
you. Hereafter I shall talk less intimately 
to you.” 

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am,” he pleaded. 
“You don’t need to be afraid that I’ll be too 
fresh.” 

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, with a pretense 
of delight. “It will be very nice to know 
that I can talk to you without fear of your 
placing a false construction on my words. 
But I am not afraid of you.” 

He stepped back from the rock, hitching 
at his cartridge belt. “I’m goin’ over to the 
Two Diamond now, ma’am,” he said. “And 
since you’ve said you ain’t afraid of me, I’m 
askin’ you if you won’t go ridin’ with me to- 
morrow. There’s a right pretty stretch of 
country about fifteen miles up the crick that 
you’d be tickled over.” 

Should she tell him that she had explored 
all of the country within thirty miles? The 
words tremblec^ on her lips but remained un- 
spoken. 

“Why, I don’t know,” she objected. “Do 
you think it is quite safe?” 

170 


"JDO YOU SMOKEr 


He smiled and stepped away from her, 
looking back over his shoulder. ‘'Thank 
you, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll ride over for 
you some time in the mornin’.” He con- 
tinued down the hill, loose stones rattling 
ahead of him. She looked after him, 
radiant. 

“But I didn’t say I would go,” she called. 
And then, receiving no answer to this, she 
waited until he had swung into the saddle 
and was waving a farewell to her. 

“Don’t come before ten o’clock!” she ad- 
vised. 

She saw him smile and then she returned 
to her manuscript. 

When the Sun-Gods kissed the crest of 
the hill and bathed her in the rich rose colors 
that came straight down to the hill through 
the rift in the mountains, she rose and 
gathered up her papers. She had not writ- 
ten another line. 

It was late in the afternoon when Leviatt 
rode up to the door of Stafford’s office and 
dismounted. He took plenty of time walk- 
171 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


ing the i^hort distance that lay between him 
and the door, and growled a savage reply 
to ^oafing puncher, who asked him a ques- 
tion. Once in the office he dropped glumly 
'into a chair, his eyes glittering vengefully 
as his gaze rested on Stafford, who sat at his 
desk, engaged in his accounts. Through the 
open window Stafford had seen the range 
boss coming and therefore when the latter 
had entered he had not looked up. 

Presently he finished his work and drew 
back from the desk. Then he took up a 
pipe, filled it with tobacco, lighted it, and 
puffed with satisfaction. 

“Nothin’s happened?” he questioned, 
glancing at his range boss. 

Leviatt’s reply was short. “No. Dropped 
down to see how things was runnin’.” 

“Things is quiet,” returned Stafford. 
“There ain’t been any cattle missed for a 
lorig time. I reckon the new stray-man is 
doin’ some good.” 

Leviatt’s eyes glowed. “If you call 
gassin’ with Mary Radford doin’ good, why 
then, he’s doin’ it!” he snapped. 

172 


""DO YOU SMOKEr 


“I ain’t heard that he’s doin’ that,” re- 
turned Stafford. 

“I’m tollin’ you about it now,” said 
Leviatt. “I seen him to-day; him an’ her 
holdin’ hands on top of a hill in Bear Flat.” 
He sneered. “He’s a better ladies’ man than 
a gunfighter. I reckon we made a mistake 
in pickin’ him up.” 

Stafford smiled indulgently. “He’s 
cert’nly a good looker,” he said. “I reckon 
some girls would take a shine to him. But 
I ain’t questionin’ his shootin’. I’ve been in 
this country a right smart while an’ I ain’t 
never seen another man that could bore a 
can six times while it’s in the air.” 

Leviatt’s lips drooped. “He could do 
that an’ not have nerve enough to shoot a 
coyote. Him not clashin’ with Ben Rad- 
ford proves he ain’t got nerve.” 

Stafford smiled. The story of how the 
stray-man had closed Leviatt’s mouth was 
still fresh in his memory. He was wonder- 
ing whether Leviatt knew that he had heard 
about the incident. 

“Suppose you try him?” he suggested. 

173 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“That’d be as good a way as any to find out 
if he’s got nerve.” 

Leviatt’s face bloated poisonously, but he 
made no answer. Apparently unaware that 
he had touched a tender spot Stafford con- 
tinued. 

“Mebbe his game is to get in with the girl, 
figgerin’ that he’ll be more liable that way 
to get a chancst at Ben Radford. But what- 
ever his game is, I ain’t interferin’. He’s 
got a season contract an’ I ain’t breakin’ my 
word with the cuss. I ain’t takin’ no chances 
with him.” 

Leviatt rose abruptly, his face swelling 
with an anger that he was trying hard to 
suppress. “He’d better not go to foolin’ 
with Mary Radford, damn him!” he 
snapped. 

“I reckon that wind is Mowin’ in two di- 
rections,” grinned Stafford. “When I see 

him X I’ll tell him ” A clatter of hoofs 

reached the ears of the two men, and 
Stafford turned to the window. “Here’s 
the stray-man now,” he said gravely. 

Both men were silent when Ferguson 
174 


YOU SMOKEr 


reached the door. He stood just inside, 
looking at Stafford and Leviatt with cold, 
alert eyes. He nodded shortly to Stafford, 
not removing his gaze from the range boss. 
The latter deliberately turned his back and 
looked out of the window. 

There was insolence in the movement, but 
apparently it had no effect upon the stray- 
man, beyond bringing a queer twitch into 
the corners of his mouth. He smiled at 
Stafford. 

“Anything new?” questioned the latter, as 
he had questioned Leviatt. 

“Nothin’ doin’,” returned Ferguson. 

Leviatt now turned from the window. He 
spoke to Stafford, sneering. “Ben Rad- 
ford’s quite a piece away from where he’s 
bangin’ out,” he said. He again turned to 
the window. 

Ferguson’s lips smiled, but his eyes nar- 
rowed. Stafford stiffened in his chair. He 
watched the stray-man’s hands furtively, 
fearing the outcome of this meeting. But 
Ferguson’s hands were nowhere near his 
guns. They were folded over his chest — 
175 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


lightly — the fingers of his right hand caress- 
ing his chin. 

“You ridin’ up the crick to-day?” he 
questioned of Leviatt. His tone was mild, 
yet there was a peculiar quality in it that 
hinted at hardness. 

“No,” answered Leviatt, without turn- 
ing. 

Ferguson began rolling a cigarette. 
When he had done this he lighted it and 
puffed slowly. “Well, now,” he said, “that’s 
mighty peculiar. “I’d swore that I saw you 
over in Bear Flat.” 

Leviatt turned. “You’ve been pickin’ 
posies too long with Mary Radford,” he 
sneered. 

Ferguson smiled. “Mebbe I have,” he re- 
turned. “There’s them that she’ll let pick 
posies with her, an’ them that she won’t.” 

Leviatt’s face crimsoned with anger. “I 
reckon if you hadn’t been monkeyin’ around 
too much with the girl, you’d have run 
across that dead Two Diamond cow an’ the 
dogie that she left,” he sneered. 

Ferguson’s lips straightened. “How far 
176 


"DO YOU SMOKEr 


off was you standin’ when that cow died?” 
he drawled. 

A curse writhed through Leviatt’s lips. 
"Why, you damned ” 

"Don’t!” warned Ferguson. He coolly 
stepped toward Leviatt, holding by the 
thongs the leather tobacco pouch from which 
he had obtained the tobacco to make his 
cigarette. When he had approached close 
to the range boss he held the pouch up be- 
fore his eyes. 

"I reckon you’d better have a smoke,” he 
said quietly; "they say it’s good for the 
nerves.” He took a long pull at the 
cigarette. "It’s pretty fair tobacco,” he con- 
tinued. "I found it about ten miles up the 
crick, on a ridge above a dry arroyo. I 
reckon it’s your’n. It’s got your initials on 
it.” 

The eyes of the two men met in a silent 
battle. Leviatt’s were the first to waver. 
Then he reached out and took the pouch. 
"It’s mine,” he said shortly. Again he looked 
straight at Ferguson, his eyes carrying a 
silent message. 


177 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 




“You see anything else?” he questioned. 

Ferguson smiled. “I ain’t sayin’ any- 
thing about anything else,” he returned. 

Thus, unsuspectingly, did Stafford watch 
and listen while these two men arranged to 
carry on their war man to man, neither ask- 
ing any favor from the man who, with a 
word, might have settled it. With his reply 
that he wasn’t “sayin’ anything about any- 
thing else,” Ferguson had told Leviatt that 
he had no intention of telling his suspicions 
to any man. ISTor from this moment would 
Leviatt dare whisper a derogatory word into 
the manager’s ear concerning Ferguson. 


178 


CHAPTER XIV 


ON THE EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 

N OW that Ferguson was satisfied be- 
yond doubt that Leviatt had been 
concealed in the thicket above the 
bed of the arroyo where he had come upon 
the dead Two Diamond cow, there remained 
but one disturbing thought: who was the 
man he had seen riding along the ridge away 
from the arroyo? Until he discovered the 
identity of the rider he must remain abso- 
lutely in the dark concerning Leviatt’s mo- 
tive in concealing the name of this other 
actor in the incident. He was positive that 
Leviatt knew the rider, but he was equally 
positive that Leviatt would keep this knowl- 
edge to himself. 

But on this morning he was not much dis- 
179 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


turbed over the mystery. Other things were 
troubling him. Would Miss Radford go 
riding with him? Would she change her 
mind over night ? 

As he rode he consulted his silver time- 
piece. She had told him not to come before 
ten. The hands of his watch pointed to ten 
thirty when he entered the flat, and it was 
near eleven when he rode up to the cabin 
door — to And Miss Radford — arrayed in 
riding skirt, dainty boots, gauntleted gloves, 
blouse, and soft felt hat — awaiting him at 
the door. 

“You’re late,” she said, smiling as she 
came out upon the porch. 

If he had been less wise he might have 
told her that she had told him not to come 
until after ten and that he had noticed that 
she had been waiting for him in spite of her 
apparent reluctance of yesterday. But he 
steered carefully away from this pitfall. He 
dismounted and threw the bridle rein over 
Mustard’s head, coming around beside the 
porch. 

‘T wasn’t thinkin’ to hurry you, ma’am,’^ 
180 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


he said. “But I reckon we’ll go now. It’s 
cert’nly a fine day for ridin’.” He stood 
silent for a moment, looking about him. 
Then he flushed. “Why, I’m gettin’ right 
box-headed, ma’am,” he declared. “Here I 
am standin’ an’ makin’ you sick with my 
palaver, an’ your horse waitin’ to be caught 
up.” 

He stepped quickly to Mustard’s side and 
uncoiled his rope. She stood on the porch, 
watching him as he proceeded to the corral, 
caught the pony, and flung a bridle on it. 
Then he led the animal to the porch and 
cinched the saddle carefully. Throwing the 
reins over the pommel of the saddle, he stood 
at the animal’s head, waiting. 

She came to the edge of the porch, placed 
a slender, booted foot into the ox-bow stir- 
rup, and swung gracefully up. In an in- 
stant he had vaulted into his own saddle, 
and together they rode out upon the gray- 
white floor of the flat. 

They rode two miles, keeping near the 
fringe of. cottonwoods, and presently 
mounted a long slope. Half an hour later 
181 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Miss Radford looked back and saw the flat 
spread out behind, silent, vast, deserted, 
slumbering in the swimming white sunlight. 
A little later she looked again, and the flat 
was no longer there, for they had reached 
the crest of the slope and their trail had 
wound them round to a broad level, from 
which began another slope, several miles 
distant. 

They had ridden for more than two hours, 
talking very little, when they reached the 
crest of the last rise and saw, spreading be- 
fore them, a level many miles wide, stretch- 
ing away in three directions. It was a grass 
plateau, but the grass was dry and droop- 
ing and rustled under the ponies’ hoofs. 
There were no trees, but a post oak thicket 
skirted the southern edge, and it was to- 
ward this that he urged his pony. She fol- 
lowed, smiling to think that he was deceiving 
himself in believing that she had not yet ex- 
plored this place. 

They came close to the thicket, and he 
swung off his horse and stood at her stirrup. 

‘T was wantin’ you to see the country 
182 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


from here,” he said, as he helped her down. 
She watched him while he picketed the 
horses, so that they might not stray. Then 
they went together to the edge of the thicket, 
seating themselves in a welcome shade. 

At their feet the plateau dropped sheer, 
as though cut with a knife, and a little way . 
out from the base lay a narrow ribbon of 
water that flowed slowly in its rocky bed, 
winding around the base of a small hill, 
spreading over a shallow bottom, and dis- 
appearing between the buttes farther down. 

Everything beneath them was distinguish- 
able, though distant. Knobs rose here; 
there a flat spread. Mountains frowned in 
the distance, but so far away that they 
seemed like papier-mache shapes towering 
in a sea of blue. Like a map the country 
seemed as Miss Radford and Ferguson 
looked down upon it, yet a big map, over 
which one might wonder; more vast, more 
nearly perfect, richer in detail than any that 
could be evolved from the talents of man. 

Ridges, valleys, gullies, hills, knobsr, and 
draws were all laid out in a vast basin. Miss 
183 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Radford’s gaze swept down into a section of 
flat near the river. 

“Why, there are some cattle down there!” 
she exclaimed. 

“Sure,” he returned; “they’re Two Dia- 
mond. Way off there behind that ridge is 
where the wagon is.” He pointed to a long 
range of flat hills that stretched several 
miles. “The boys that are workin’ on the 
other side of that ridge can’t see them cattle 
like we can. Looks plum re-diculous.” 

“There are no men with those cattle down 
there,” she said, pointing to those below in 
the flat. 

“No,” he returned quietly; “they’re all off 
on the other side of the ridge.” 

She smiled demurely at him. “Then we 
won’t be interrupted — as we were yester- 
day,” she said. 

Did she know that this was why he had 
selected this spot for the end of the ride? 
He looked quickly at her, but answered 
slowly. 

“They couldn’t see us,” he said. “If we 
was out in the open we’d be right on the 
184 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


skyline. Then anyone could see us. But 
weVe got this thicket behind us, an’ I reckon 
from down there we’d be pretty near in- 
visible.” 

He turned around, clasping his hands 
about one knee and looking squarely at her. 
‘T expect you done a heap with your book 
yesterday — after I went away?” 

Her cheeks colored a little under his 
straight gaze. 

‘T didn’t stay there long,” she equivo- 
cated. “But I got some very good ideas, 
and I am glad that I didn’t write much. I 
should have had to destroy it, because I have 
decided upon a different beginning. Ben 
made the trip to Dry Bottom yesterday, 
and last night he told something that had 
happened there that has given me some very 
good material for a beginning.” 

“That’s awful interestin’,” he observed. 
“So now you’ll be able to start your book 
with somethin’ that really happened?” 

“Real and original,” she returned, with 
a quick glance at him. “Ben told me that 
about a month ago some men had a shooting 
185 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


match in Dry Bottom. They used a can for 
a target, and one man kept it in the air until 
he put six bullet holes through it. Ben says 
he is pretty handy with his weapons, but he 
could never do that. He insists that few 
men can, and he is inclined to think that the 
man who did do it must have been a gun- 
fighter. I suppose you have never tried it?” 

Over his lips while she had been speaking 
had crept the slight mocking smile which 
always told better than words of the cold 
cynicism that moved him at times. Did she 
know anything? Did she suspect him? The 
smile masked an interest that illumined his 
eyes very slightly as he looked at her. 

‘T expect that is plum slick shootin’,” he 
returned slowly. “But some men can do it. 
IVe knowed them. But I ain’t heard that 
it’s been done lately in this here country. I 
reckon Ben told you somethin’ of how this 
man looked?” 

He had succeeded in putting the question 
very casually, and she had not caught the 
note of deep interest in his voice. 

“Why it’s very odd,” she said, looking him 
186 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


over carefully; “from Ben’s description I 
should assume that the man looked very like 
you!” 

If her reply had startled him he gave 
little evidence of it. He sat perfectly quiet, 
gazing with steady eyes out over the big 
basin. For a time she sat silent also, her 
gaze following his. Then she turned. 

“That would be odd, wouldn’t it?” she 
said. 

“What would?” he answered, not looking 
at her. 

“Why, if you were the man who had done 
that shooting! It would follow out the idea 
of my plot perfectly. For in my story the 
hero is hired to shoot a supposed rustler, 
and of course he would have to be a good 
shot. And since Ben has told me the story 
of the shooting match I have decided that 
the hero in my story shall be tested in that 
manner before being employed to shoot the 
rustler. Then he comes to the supposed 
rustler’s cabin and meets the heroine, in 
much the same manner that you came. Now 
if it should turn out that you were the man 
187 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


who did the shooting, in Dry Bottom my 
story up to this point would be very nearly 
real. And that would be fine!” 

She had allowed a little enthusiasm to 
creep into her voice, and he looked up at her 
quickly, a queer expression in his eyes. 

“You goin’ to have your ‘two-gun’ man 
bit by a rattler?” he questioned. 

“Well, I don’t know about that. It would 
make very little difference. But I should 
be delighted to find that you were the man 
who did the shooting over at Dry Bottom. 
Say that you are!” 

Even now he could not tell whether there 
was subtlety in her voice. The old doubt 
rose again in his mind. Was she really 
serious in saying that she intended putting 
all this in her story, or was this a ruse, con- 
cealing an ulterior purpose? Suppose she 
and her brother suspected him of being the 
man who had participated in the shooting 
match in Dry Bottom? Suppose the 
brother, or she, had invented this tale about 
the book to draw him out? He was moved 
to an inward humor, amused to think that 
188 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


either of them should imagine him shallow 
enough to be caught thus. 

But what if they did catch him? Would 
they gain by it? They could gain nothing, 
but the knowledge would serve to put them 
on their guard. But if she did suspect him, 
what use was there in evasion or denial? He 
smiled whimsically. 

“I reckon your story is goin’ to be real up 
to this point,” he returned. “A while back 
I did shoot at a can in Dry Bottom.” 

She gave an exclamation of delight. 
“Now, isn’t that marvelous? No one shall 
be able to say that my beginning will be 
strictly fiction.” She leaned closer to him, 
her eyes alight with eagerness. “Now please 
don’t say that you are the man who shot the 
can five times,” she pleaded. “I shouldn’t 
want my hero to be beaten at anything he 
undertook. But I know that you were not 
beaten. Were you?” 

He smiled gravely. “I reckon I wasn’t 
beat,” he returned. 

She sat back and surveyed him with satis- 
faction. 


189 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“I knew it,” she stated, as though in her 
mind there had never existed any doubt of 
the fact. “Now,” she said, plainly pleased 
over the result of her questioning, “I shall 
be able to proceed, entirely confident that 
my hero will be able to give a good account 
of himself in any situation.” 

Her eyes baffled him. He gave up watch- 
ing her and turned to look at the world be- 
neath him. He would have given much to 
know her thoughts. She had said that from 
her brother’s description of the man who had 
won the shooting match at Dry Bottom she 
would assume that that man had looked very 
like him. Did her brother hold this opinion 
also? 

Ferguson cared very little if he did. He 
was accustomed to danger, and he had gone 
into this business with his eyes open. And 

if Ben did know Unconsciously his 

lips straightened and his chin went forward 
slightly, giving his face an expression of 
hardness that made him look ten years older. 
Watching him, the girl drew a slow, full 
breath. It was a side of his character with 
190 


EBGE OF THE PLATEAU 


which she was as yet unacquainted, and she 
marveled over it, comparing it to the side 
she already knew — the side that he had 
shown her — quiet, thoughtful, subtle. And 
now at a glance she saw him as men knew 
him — unyielding, unafraid, indomitable. 

Yet there was much in this sudden revela- 
tion of character to admire. She liked a 
man whom other men respected for the very 
traits that his expression had revealed. No 
man would be likely to adopt an air of 
superiority toward him ; none would attempt 
to trifle with him. She felt that she ought 
not to trifle, but moved by some unaccount- 
able impulse, she laughed. 

He turned his head at the laugh and 
looked quizzically at her. 

“I hope you were not thinking of killing 
some one?” she taunted. 

His right hand slowly clenched. Some- 
thing metallic suddenly glinted his eyes, to 
be succeeded instantly by a slight mockery. 
“You afraid some one’s goin’ to be killed?” 
he inquired slowly. 

“.Well — ^no,” she returned, startled by the 
191 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


question. “But you looked so — so deter- 
mined that I — I thought ” 

He suddenly seized her arm and drew her 
around so that she faced the little stretch of 
plain near the ridge about which they had 
been speaking previously. His lips were in 
straight lines again, his eyes gleaming in- 
terestedly. 

“You see that man down there among 
them cattle?” he questioned. 

Following his gaze, she saw a man among 
perhaps a dozen cattle. At the moment she 
looked the man had swung a rope, and she 
saw the loop fall true over the head of a cow 
the man had selected, saw the pony pivot and 
drag the cow prone. Then the man dis- 
mounted, ran swiftly to the side of the fallen 
cow, and busied himself about her hind 
legs, 

“What is he doing?” she asked, a sudden 
excitement shining in her eyes. 

“He’s hog-tieing her now,” returned Fer- 
guson. 

She knew what that meant. She had seen 
Ben throw cattle in this manner when he 
192 


EBGE OF THE PLATEAU 


was branding them. “Hog-tieing” meant 
binding their hind legs with a short piece of 
rope to prevent struggling while the brand 
was being applied. 

Apparently this was what the man was 
preparing to do. Smoke from a nearby fire 
curled lazily upward, and about this fire the 
man now worked — evidently turning some 
branding irons. He gave some little time to 
this, and while Miss Radford watched she 
heard Ferguson’s voice again. 

“I reckon we’re goin’ to see some fun 
pretty soon,” he said quietly. 

“Why?” she inquired quickly. 

He smiled. “Do you see that man ridin’ 
through that break on the ridge?” he asked, 
pointing the place out to her. She nodded, 
puzzled by his manner. He continued dryly. 

“Well, if that man that’s cornin’ through 
the break is what he ought to be he’ll be 
shootin’ pretty soon.” 

“Why?” she gasped, catching at his 
sleeve, “why should he shoot?” 

He laughed again — grimly. “Well,” he re- 
turned, “if a puncher ketches a rustler with 
193 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


the goods on he’s got a heap of right to do 
some shootin’.” 

She shuddered. “And do you think that 
man among the cattle is a rustler?” she 
asked. 

“Wait,” he advised, peering intently to- 
ward the ridge. “Why,” he continued pres- 
ently, “there’s another man ridin’ this way. - 
An’ he’s hidin’ from the other — keepin’ in 
the gullies an’ the draws so’s the first man 
can’t see him if he looks back.” He laughed 
softly. “It’s plum re-diculous. Here we 
are, able to see all that’s goin’ on down there 
an’ not able to take a hand in it. An’ there’s 
them three goin’ ahead with what they’re 
thinkin’ about, not knowin’ that we’re watch- j 
in’ them, an’ two of them not knowin’ that j 
the third man is watchin’. I’d call that plum 5 
re-diculous.” 

The first man was still riding through the 
break in the ridge, coming boldly, apparent- 
ly unconscious of the presence of the man 
among the cattle, who was well concealed 
from the first man’s eyes by a rocky promon- 
tory at the corner of the break. The third 
194 


EBGE OF THE PLATEAU 


man was not over an eighth of a mile behind 
the first man, and riding slowly and care- 
fully. At the rate the first man was riding 
not five minutes would elapse before he 
would come out into the plain full upon the 
point where the man among the cattle was 
working at his fire. 

Ferguson and Miss Radford watched the 
scene with interest. Plainly the first man 
was intruding. Or if not, he was the 
rustler’s confederate and the third man was 
spying upon him. Miss Radford and Fer- 
guson were to discover the key to the situa- 
tion presently. 

“Do you think that man among the cattle 
is a rustler?” questioned Miss Radford. In 
her excitement she had pressed very close 
to Ferguson and was clutching his arm 
very tightly. 

“I reckon he is,” returned Ferguson. “I 
ain’t rememberin’ that any ranch has cows 
that run the range unbranded; especially 
when the cow has got a calf, unless that cow 
is a maverick, an’ that ain’t likely, since she’s 
runnin’ with the Two Diamond bunch.” 

195 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


He leaned forward, for the man had left 
the fire and was running toward the fallen 
cow. Once at her side the man bent over 
her, pressing the hot irons against the bot- 
toms of her hoofs. A thin wreath of smoke 
curled upward; the cow struggled. 

Ferguson looked at Miss Radford. 
“Burnt her hoofs,” he said shortly, “so she 
can’t follow when he runs her calf off.” 

“The brute!” declared Miss Radford, her 
face paling with anger. 

The man was fumbling with the rope that 
bound the cow’s legs, when the first man 
rode around the edge of the break and came 
full upon him. From the distance at which 
Miss Radford and Ferguson watched they 
could not see the expression of either man’s 
face, but they saw the rustler’s right hand 
move downward; saw his pistol glitter in 
the sunlight. 

But the pistol was not raised. The first 
man’s pistol had appeared just a fraction of 
a second sooner, and they saw that it was 
poised, menacing the rustler. 

For an instant the two men were motion- 
196 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


less. Ferguson felt the grasp on his arm 
tighten, and he turned his head to see Miss 
Radford’s face, pale and drawn; her eyes 
lifted to his with a slow, dawning horror in 
them. 

“Oh !” she exclaimed. “They are going to 
shoot!” She withdrew her hand from Fer- 
guson’s arm and held it, with the other, to 
her ears, cringing away from the edge of the 
cliff. She waited, breathless, for — it seemed 
to her — ^the space of several minutes, her 
head turned from the men, her eyes closed 
for fear that she might, in the dread of the 
moment, look toward the plain. She kept 
telling herself that she would not turn, but 
presently, in spite of her determination, the 
suspense was too great, and she turned 
quickly and fearfully, expecting to see at 
least one riderless horse. That would have 
been horrible enough. 

To her surprise both men still kept the 
positions that they had held when she had 
turned away. The newcomer’s revolver still 
menaced the rustler. She looked up into 
Ferguson’s face, to see a grim smile on it, to 
197 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


see his eyes, chilled and narrowed, fixed 
steadily upon the two horsemen. 

“Oh!” she said, “is it over?” 

Ferguson heard the question, and smiled 
mirthlessly without turning his head. 

“I reckon it ain’t over — yet,” he returned. 
“But I expect it’ll be over pretty soon, if 
that guy that’s got his gun on the rustler 
don’t get a move on right quick. That other 
guy is cornin’ around the corner of that 
break, an’ if he’s the rustler’s friend that 
man with the gun will get his pretty rapid.” 
His voice raised a trifle, a slightly anxious 
note in it. 

“Why don’t the damn fool turn around? 
He could see that last man now if he did. 
Now, what do you think of that?” Fer- 
guson’s voice was sharp and tense, and, in 
spite of herself. Miss Radford’s gaze shifted 
again to the plains below her. Fascinated, 
her fear succumbing to the intense interest 
of the moment, she followed the movements 
of the trio. 

From around the corner of the break the 
third man had ridden. He was not over a 
198 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


hundred feet from the man who had caught 
the rustler and he was walking his horse 
now. The watchers on the edge of the 
plateau could see that he had taken in the 
situation and was stealing upon the captor, 
who sat in his saddle, his back to the ad- 
vancing rider. 

Drawing a little closer, the third man 
stealthily dropped from his pony and crept 
forward. The significance of this movement 
dawned upon Miss Radford in a flash, and 
she again seized Ferguson’s arm, tugging at 
it fiercely. 

“Why, he’s going to kill that man!” she 
cried. “Can’t you do something? For 
mercy’s sake do! Shout, or shoot off your 
pistol — do something to warn him!” 

Ferguson flashed a swift glance at her, 
and she saw that his face wore a queer pallor. 
His expression had grown grimmer, but he 
smiled — a little sadly, she thought. 

“It ain’t a bit of use tryin’ to do any- 
thing,” he returned, his gaze again on the 
men. “We’re two miles from them men an’ 
a thousand feet above them. There ain’t any 
199 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


pistol report goin’ to stop what’s goin’ on 
down there. All we can do is to watch. 
Mebbe we can recognize one of them. 
. . . Shucks!” 

The exclamation was called from him by 
a sudden movement on the part of the cap- 
tor. The third man must have made a noise, 
for the captor turned sharply. At the in- 
stant he did so the rustler’s pistol flashed in 
the sunlight. 

The watchers on the plateau did not hear 
the report at once, and when they did it came 
to them only faintly — a slight sound which 
was barely distinguishable. But they saw a 
sudden spurt of flame and smoke. The 
captor reeled drunkenly in his saddle, caught 
blindly at the pommel, and then slid slowly 
down into the grass of the plains. 

Ferguson drew a deep breath and, turn- 
ing, looked sharply at Miss Radford. She 
had covered her face with her hands and was 
swaying dizzily. He was up from the rock 
in a flash and was supporting her, leading 
her away from the edge of the plateau. She 
went unresisting, her slender flgure shudder- 

aoo 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


ing spasmodically, her hands still covering 
her face. 

‘‘Oh!” she exclaimed, as the horror of the 
scene rose in her mind. “The brutes! The 
brutes !” 

Feeling that if he kept quiet she would 
recover from the shock of the incident 
sooner, Ferguson said nothing in reply to 
her outbreaks as he led her toward the 
ponies. For a moment after reaching them 
she leaned against her animal’s shoulder, 
her face concealed from Ferguson by the 
pony’s mane. Then he was at her side, 
speaking firmly. 

“You must get away from here,” he said, 
“I ought to have got you away before — be- 
fore that happened.” 

She looked up, showing him a pair of 
wide, dry eyes, in which there was still a 
trace of horror. An expression of grave 
self- accusation shone in his. 

“You were not to blame,” she said dully. 
“You may have anticipated a meeting of 
those men, but you could not have foreseen 
the end. Oh!” She shuddered again. “To 
SOI 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


think of seeing a man deliberately mur- 
dered!” 

‘‘That’s just what- it was,” he returned 
quietly; “just plain murder. They had him 
between them. He didn’t have a chance. 
He was bound to get it from one or the 
other. Looks like they trapped him; run 
him down there on purpose.” He held her 
stirrup. 

“I reckon you’ve seen enough, ma’am,” 
he added. “You’d better hop right on your 
horse an’ get back to Bear Flat.” 

She shivered and raised her head, looking 
at him — a flash of fear in her eyes. “You 
are going down there!” she cried, her eyes 
dilating. 

He laughed grimly. “I cert’nly am, 
ma’am,” he returned. “You’d better go 
right off. I’m ridin’ down there to see how 
bad that man is hit.” 

She started toward him, protesting. 
“Why, they will kill you, too!” she declared. 

He laughed again, with a sudden grim 
humor. “There ain’t any danger,” he re- 
turned. “They’ve sloped.” 

202 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 

Involuntarily she looked down. Far out 
on the plains, through the break in the ridge 
of hills, she could see two horsemen racing 
away. 

“The cowards!” she cried, her voice shak- 
ing with anger. “To shoot a man in cold 
blood and then run!” She looked at Fer- 
guson, her figure stiffening with decision. 

“If you go down there I am going, too!” 
she declared. “He might need some help,” 
she added, seeing the objection in his eyes, 
“and if he does I may be able to give it to 
him. You know,” she continued, smiling 
wanly, “I have had some experience with 
sick people.” 

He said nothing more, but silently assisted 
her into the saddle and swung into his own. 
They urged the animals to a rapid pace, she 
following him eagerly. 

It was a rough trail, leading through 
many gullies, around miniature hills, into 
bottoms where huge boulders and treacher- 
ous sand barred the way, along the face of 
dizzy cliffs, and through lava beds where the 
footing was uncertain and dangerous. But 
203 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


in an hour they were on the plains and rid- 
ing toward the break in the ridge of hills, 
where the shooting had been done. 

The man’s pony had moved off a little and 
was grazing unconcernedly when they ar- 
rived. A brown heap in the grass told where 
the man lay, and presently Ferguson was 
down beside him, one of his limp wrists be- 
tween his fingers. He stood up after a 
moment, to confront Miss Radford, who had 
fallen behind during the last few minutes of 
the ride. Ferguson’s face was grave, and 
there was a light in his eyes that thrilled her 
for a moment as she looked at him. 

“He ain’t dead, ma’am,” he said as he as- 
sisted her down from her pony. “The bullet 
got him in the shoulder.” 

She caught a queer note in his voice — 
something approaching appeal. She looked 
swiftly at him, suspicious. “Do you know 
him?” she asked. 

“I reckon I do, ma’am,” he returned. 
“It’s Rope Jones. Once he stood by me 
when he thought I needed a friend. If 
there’s any chance I’m goin’ to get him to 
204 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


your cabin — where you can take care of 
him till he gets over this — if he ever does.” 

She realized now how this tragedy had 
shocked her. She reeled and the world swam 
dizzily before her. Again she saw Fer- 
guson dart forward, but she steadied herself 
and smiled reassuringly. 

“It is merely the thought that I must now 
put my little knowledge to a severe test,” 
she said. “It rather frightened me. I don’t 
know whether anything can be done.” 

She succeeded in forcing herself to calm- 
ness and gave orders rapidly. 

“Get something under his head,” she com- 
manded. “No, that will be too high,” she 
added, as she saw Ferguson start to un- 
buckle the saddle cinch on his pony. “Raise 
his head only a very little. That round 
thing that you have fastened to your saddle 
(the slicker) would do very well. There, 
Now get some water!” 

She was down beside the wounded man in 
another instant, cutting away a section of 
the shirt near the shoulder, with a knife that 
she had borrowed from Ferguson. The 
^05 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


wound had not bled much and was lower 
than Ferguson had thought. But she gave 
it what care she could, and when Ferguson 
arrived with water — from the river, a mile 
away — she dressed the wound and applied 
water to Rope’s forehead. 

Soon she saw that her efforts were to be 
of little avail. Rope lay pitifully slack and 
unresponsive. At the end of an hour’s work 
Ferguson bent over her with a question on 
his lips. 

“Do you reckon he’ll come around, 
ma’am?” 

She shook her head negatively. “The 
bullet has lodged somewhere — possibly in the 
lung,” she returned. “It entered just above 
the heart, and he has bled much — internally. 
He may never regain consciousness.” 

Ferguson’s face paled with a sudden 
anger. “In that case, ma’am, we’ll never 
know who shot him,” he said slowly. “An’ 
I’m wantin’ to know that. Couldn’t you 
fetch him to, ma’am — just long enough so’s 
I could ask him?” 

She looked up with a slow glance. “I 
S06 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


can try,” she said. “Is there any more 
whiskey in your flask?” 

He produced the flask, and they both bent 
over Rope, forcing a generous portion of 
the liquor down his throat. Then, alternately 
bathing the wound and his forehead, they 
watched. They were rewarded presently by 
a faint flicker of the eyelids and a slow flow 
of color in the pale cheeks. Then after a 
little the eyes opened. 

In an instant Ferguson’s lips were close 
to Rope’s ear. “Who shot you. Rope, old 
man?” he asked eagerly. “You don’t need 
to be afraid to tell me, it’s Ferguson.” 

The wounded man’s eyes were glazed with 
a dull incomprehension. But slowly, as 
though at last he was faintly conscious of the 
signiflcance of the question, his eyes glinted 
with the steady light of returning reason. 
Suddenly he smiled, his lips opening slight- 
ly. Both watchers leaned tensely forward 
to catch the low words. 

“Ferguson told me to look out,” he 
mumbled. “He told me to be careful that 
they didn’t get me between them. But I 
207 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


wasn’t thinkin’ it would happen just that 
way.” And now his eyes opened scornfully 
and he struggled and lifted himself upon 
one arm, gazing at some imaginary object. 

“Why,” he said slowly and distinctly, his 
voice cold and metallic, “you’re a hell of a 

range boss! Why you 1” he broke off 

suddenly, his eyes fixed full upon Miss Rad- 
ford. “Why, it’s a woman! An’ I thought 
• Why, ma’am,” he went on, apologeti- 
cally, “I didn’t know you was there ! . . . 

But you ain’t goin’ to run off no calf while 
I’m lookin’ at you. Shucks! Won’t the Ol’ 
Man be some surprised to know that Tuc- 
son an’ ” 

He shuddered spasmodically and sat erect 
with a great effort. 

“You’ve got me, damn you!” he sneered. 
“But you won’t never get anyone ” 

He swung his right hand over his head, as 
though the hand held a pistol. But the arm 
suddenly dropped, he shuddered again, and 
sank slowly back — ^his eyes wide and star- 
ing, but unseeing. 

Ferguson looked sharply at Miss Rad- 
208 


EDGE OF THE PLATEAU 


ford, who was suddenly bending over the 
prostrate man, her head on his breast. She 
arose after a little, tears starting to her eyes. 
“He has gone,” she said slowly. 


209 


CHAPTER XV 


A FREE HAND 

I T was near midnight when Ferguson 
rode in to the Two Diamond ranch- 
house leading Rope’s pony. He 
carefully unsaddled the two animals and 
let them into the corral, taking great pains 
to make little noise. Rope’s saddle — a pe- 
culiar one with a high pommel bearing a 
silver plate upon which the puncher’s name 
was engraved — he placed conspicuously near 
the door of the bunkhouse. His own he 
carefully suspended from its accustomed 
hook in the lean-to. Then, still carefully, he 
made his way inside the bunkhouse and 
sought his bunk. 

At dawn he heard voices outside and he 
arose and went to the door. Several of the 
men were gathered about the step talking. 
210 


A FREE HAND 


For an instant Ferguson stood, his eyes rov- 
ing over the griDup. 'Tucson was not there. 
He went back into the bunkhouse and 
walked casually about, taking swift glances 
at the bunks where the men still slept. Then 
he returned to the door, satisfied that Tucson 
had not come in. 

When he reached the door again he found 
that the men of the group had discovered the 
saddle. One of them was saying something 
about it. ‘‘That ain’t just the way I take 
care of my saddle,” he was telling the others ; 
“leavin’ her out nights.” 

“I never knowed Rope to be that careless 
before,” said another. 

Ferguson returned to the bunkhouse and 
ate breakfast. After the meal was finished 
he went out, caught up Mustard, swung into 
the saddle, and rode down to the ranchhouse 
door. He found Stafford in the office. The 
latter greeted the stray-man with a smile. 

“Somethin’ doin’?” he questioned. 

“You might call it that,” returned Fer- 
guson. He went inside and seated himself 
near Stafford’s desk. 


211 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“IVe come in to tell you that I saw some 
rustlers workin’ on the herd yesterday,” he 
said. 

Stafford sat suddenly erect, his eyes light- 
ing interrogatively. 

“It wasn’t Ben Radford,” continued Fer- 
guson, answering the look. “You’d be sur- 
prised if I told you. But I ain’t tellin’ — 
now. I’m waitin’ to see if someone else does. 
But I’m tellin’ you this: They got Rope 
Jones.” 

Stafford’s face reddened with anger. 
“They got Rope, you say?” he demanded. 
“Why, where — damn them!” 

“Back of the ridge about fifteen miles up 
the crick,” returned Ferguson. “I was ridin’ 
along the edge of the plateau an’ I saw a 
man down there shoot another. I got down 
as soon as I could an’ found Rope. There 
wasn’t nothin’ I could do. So I planted him 
where I found him an’ brought his horse 
back. There was two rustlers there. But 
only one done the shootin’. I got the name 
of one.” 

Stafford cursed. “I’m wantin’ to know 


A FREE HAND 


who it was!” he demanded. “I’ll make him 
— ^why, damn him, I’ll ” 

“You’re carryin’ on awful,” observed Fer- 
guson dryly. “But you ain’t doin’ any 
good.” He leaned closer to Stafford. “I’m 
quittin’ my job right now,” he said. 

Stafford leaned back in his chair, surprised 
into silence. For an instant he glared at the 
stray-man, and then his lips curled scorn- 
fully. 

“So you’re quittin’,” he sneered; “scared 
plum out because you seen a man put out of 
business ! I reckon Leviatt wasn’t far wrong 
when he said ” 

“I wouldn’t say a lot,” interrupted Fer- 
guson coldly. “I ain’t admittin’ that I’m 
any scared. An’ I ain’t carin’ a heap be- 
cause Leviatt’s been gassin’ to you. But 
I’m quittin’ the job you give me. Ben Rad- 
ford ain’t the man who’s been rustlin’ your 
cattle. It’s someone else. I’m askin’ you to 
hire me to find out whoever it is. I’m want- 
in’ a free hand. I don’t want anyone askin’ 
me any questions. I don’t want anyone 
orderin’ me around. But if you want the 

ns 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


men who are rustlin’ your cattle, I’m offerin’ 
to do the job. Do I get it?” 

“You’re keepin’ right on — workin’ for the 
Two Diamond,” returned Stafford. “But 
I’d like to get hold of the man who got 
Rope.” 

Ferguson smiled grimly. “That man’ll be 
gittin’ his some day,” he declared, rising. 
“I’m keepin’ him for myself. Mebbe I 
won’t shoot him. I reckon Rope’d be some 
tickled if he’d know that the man who shot 
him could get a chance to think it over while 
some man was stringin’ him up. You ain’t 
sayin’ anything about anything.” 

He turned and went out. Five minutes 
later Stafford saw him riding slowly to- 
ward the river. 

As the days went a mysterious word be- 
gan to be spoken wherever men congre- 
gated. No man knew whence the word had 
come, but it was whispered that Rope Jones 
would be seen no more. His pony joined 
the remuda; his saddle and other personal 
effects became prizes for which the men of 
214 


A FREE HAND 


the outfit cast lots. Inquiries were made 
concerning the puncher by friends who per- 
sisted in being inquisitive, but nothing re- 
sulted. In time the word “rustler” became 
associated with his name, and “caught with 
the goods” grew to be a phrase that told 
eloquently of the manner of his death. 
Later it was whispered that Leviatt and 
Tucson had come upon Rope behind the 
ridge, catching him in the act of running off 
a Two Diamond calf. But as no report had 
been made to Stafford by either Leviatt or 
Tucson, the news remained merely rumor. 

Ferguson had said nothing more to any 
man concerning the incident. To do so would 
have warned Tucson. And neither Fer- 
guson nor Miss Radford could have sworn 
to the man’s guilt. In addition to this, there 
lingered in Ferguson’s mind a desire to play 
this game in his own way. Telling the men 
of the outfit what he had seen would make 
his knowledge common property — and in the 
absence of proof might cause him to appear 
ridiculous. 

But since the shooting he had little doubt 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


that Leviatt had been Tucson’s companion 
on that day. Rope’s scathing words — 
spoken while Miss Radford had been trying 
to revive him — . “You’re a hell of a range 
boss,” had convinced the stray-man that 
Leviatt had been one of the assailants. He 
had wondered much over the emotions of the 
two when they returned to the spot where 
the murder had been committed, to find their 
victim buried and his horse gone. But of 
one thing he was certain — ^their surprise over 
the discovery that the body of their victim 
had been buried could not have equalled 
their discomfiture on learning that the 
latter’s pony had been secretly brought to 
the home ranch, and that among the men of 
the outfit was one, at least, who knew some- 
thing of their guilty secret. Ferguson 
thought this to be the reason that they had 
not reported the incident to Stafford. 

There was now nothing for the stray-man 
to do but watch. The men who had killed 
Rope were wary and dangerous, and their 
next move might be directed at him. But he 
was not disturbed. One thought brought 
ai6 


A FREE HAND 


him a mighty satisfaction. He was no 
longer employed to fasten upon Ben Rad- 
ford the stigma of guilt; no longer need he 
feel oppressed with the guilty consciousness, 
when in the presence of Mary Radford, that 
he was, in a measure, a hired spy whose busi- 
ness it was to convict her brother of the crime 
of rustling. He might now meet the young 
woman face to face, without experiencing 
the sensation of guilt that had always af- 
fected him. 

Beneath his satisfaction lurked a deeper 
emotion. During the course of his acquaint- 
ance with Rope Jones he had developed a 
sincere affection for the man. The grief in 
his heart over Rope’s death was made more 
poignant because of the latter’s words, just 
before the final moment, which seemed to 
have been a plea for vengeance: 

“Ferguson told me to look out. He told 
me to be careful that they didn’t get me be- 
tween them. But I wasn’t thinkin’ that it 
would happen just that way.” 

This had been all that Rope had - said 
about his friend, but it showed that during 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


his last conscious moments he had been 
thinking of the stray-man. As the days 
passed the words dwelt continually in Fer- 
guson’s mind. Each day that he rode 
abroad, searching for evidence against the 
murderers, brought him a day nearer to the 
vengeance upon which he had determined. 


^18 


CHAPTER XVI 


LEVIATT TAKES A STEP 


M ISS RADFORD was sitting on the 
flat rock on the hill where she had 
written the flrst page of her novel. 
The afternoon sun was coming slantwise 
over the western mountains, sinking steadily 
toward the rift out of which came the rose 
veil that she had watched many times. She 
had just completed a paragraph in which 
the villain appears when she became aware 
of someone standing near. She turned 
swiftly, with heightened color, to see 
Leviatt. 

His sudden appearance gave her some- 
thing of a shock, for as he stood there, smil- 
ing at her, he answered perfectly the descrip- 
tion she had just written. He might have 
^19 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


just stepped from one of her pages. But the 
shock passed, leaving her a little pale, but 
quite composed — and not a little annoyed. 
She had found her work interesting; she had 
become quite absorbed in it. Therefore she 
failed to appreciate Leviatt’s sudden ap- 
pearance, and with uptilted chin turned 
from him and pretended an interest in the 
rim of hills that surrounded the flat. 

For an instant Leviatt stood, a frown 
wrinkling his forehead. Then with a smile 
he stepped forward and seated himself be- 
side her on the rock. She immediately drew 
her skirts close to her and shot a displeased 
glance at him from the corners of her eyes. 
Then seeing that he still sat there, she 
moved her belongings a few feet and fol- 
lowed them. He could not doubt the 
significance of this move, but had he been 
wise he might have ignored it. A woman’s 
impulses will move her to rebuke a man, but 
if he will accept without comment he may be 
reasonably sure of her pity, and pity is a 
path of promise. 

But the range boss neglected his oppor- 
220 


LEV I ATT TAKES A STEP 


tunity. He made the mistake of thinking 
that because he had seen her many times 
while visiting her brother he might now with 
propriety assume an air of intimacy toward 
her. 

“I reckon this rock is plenty big enough 
for both of us,” he said amiably. 

She measured the distance between them 
with a calculating eye. “It is,” she returned 
quietly, “if you remain exactly where you 
are.” 

He forced a smile. “An’ if I don’t?” he 
inquired. 

“You may have the rock to yourself,” she 
returned coldly. “I did not ask you to come 
here.” 

He chose to ignore this hint, telling her 
that he had been to the cabin to see Ben and, 
finding him absent, had ridden through the 
flat. “I saw you when I was quite a piece 
away,” he concluded, “an’ thought mebbe 
you might be lonesome.” 

“When I am lonesome I choose my own 
company,” she returned coldly. 

“Why, sure,” he said, his tone slightly 
221 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


sarcastic; cert’nly ought to know who 
you want to talk to. But you ain’t objectin’ 
to me settin’ on this hill?” he inquired. 

“The hill is not mine,” she observed quiet- 
ly, examining one of the written pages of 
her novel; “sit here as long as you like.” 

“Thanks.” He drawled the word. Lean- 
ing back on one elbow he stretched out as 
though assured that she would make no fur- 
ther objections to his presence. She ignored 
him completely and very deliberately ar- 
ranged her papers and resumed writing. 

For a time he lay silent, watching the 
pencil travel the width of the page — and 
then back. A mass of completed manuscript 
lay at her side, the pages covered with care- 
fully written, legible words. She had al- 
ways taken a pardonable pride in her pen- 
manship. For a while he watched her, 
puzzled, furtively trying to decipher some 
of the words that appeared upon the pages. 
But the distance was too great for him and 
he finally gave it up and fell to looking at 
her instead, though determined to solve the 
wordy mystery that was massed near her. 

222 


LEVIATT TAKES A STEP 


Finally finding the silence irksome, he 
dropped an experimental word, speaking 
casually. “You must have been to school a 
heap — ^writin’ like you do.” 

She gave him no answer, being at that 
moment absorbed in a thought which she was 
trying to transcribe before it should take 
wings and be gone forever. 

“Writin’ comes easy to some people,” he 
persisted. 

The thought had been set down; she 
turned very slightly. “Yes,” she said look- 
ing steadily at him, “it does. So does im- 
pertinence.” 

He smiled easily. “I ain’t aimin’ to be 
impertinent,” he returned. “I wouldn’t 
reckon that askin’ you what you are writin’ 
would be impertinent. It’s too long for a 
letter.” 

“It is a novel,” she returned shortly. 

He smiled, exulting over this partial con- 
cession. “I reckon to write a book you must 
be some special kind of a woman,” he ob- 
served admiringly. 

She was silent. He sat up and leaned to- 
223 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


ward her, his eyes flashing with a sudden 
passion. 

“If that’s it,” he said with unmistakable 
significance, “I don’t mind tollin’ you that 
I’m some partial to them special kind.” 

Her chin rose a little. “I am not con- 
cerned over your feelings,” she returned 
without looking at him. 

“That kind of a woman would naturally 
know a heap,” he went on, apparently un- 
mindful of the rebuke; “they’d cert’nly 
know enough to be able to see when a man 
likes them.” 

She evidently understood the drift, for her 
eyes glowed subtly. “It is too bad that you 
are not a ‘special kind of man,’ then,” she 
replied. 

“Meanin’?” he questioned, his eyes glint- 
ing with eagerness. 

“Meaning that if you were a ‘special kind 
of man’ you would be able to tell when a 
woman doesn’t like you,” she said coldly. 

“I reckon that I ain’t a special kind then,” 
he declared, his face reddening slightly. “Of 
course, I’ve seen that you ain’t appeared to 
224 


LEV I ATT TAKES A STEP 


take much of a shine to me. But IVe heard 
that there’s women that can be won if a man 
keeps at it long enough.” 

“Some men like to waste their time,” she 
returned quietly. 

“I don’t call it wastin’ time to be talkin’ 
to you,” he declared rapidly. 

“Our opinions differ,” she observed short- 
ly, resting the pencil point on the page that 
she had been writing. 

Her profile was toward him; her cheeks 
were tinged with color ; some stray wisps of 
hair hung, breeze-blown, over her forehead 
and temples. She made an attractive pic- 
ture, sitting there with the soft sunlight 
about her, a picture whose beauty smdte 
Leviatt’s heart with a pang of sudden re- 
gret and disappointment. She might have 
been his, but for the coming of Ferguson. 
And now, because of the stray-man’s wiles, 
he was losing her. 

A sudden rage seized upon him ; he leaned 
forward, his face bloating poisonously. 
“Mebbe I could name a man who ain’t 
wastin’ his time!” he sneered. 


225 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


She turned suddenly and looked at him, 
dropping pencil and paper, her eyes flashing 
with a bitter scorn. “You are one of those 
sulking cowards who fawn over men and 
insult defenseless women!” she declared, the 
words coming slowly and distinctly. 

He had realized before she answered that 
he had erred, and he smiled deprecatingly, 
the effort contorting his face. 

“I wasn’t meanin’ just that,” he said 
weakly. “I reckon it’s a clear fleld an’ no 
favors.” He took a step toward her, his 
voice growing tense. “I’ve been cornin’ 
down to your cabin a lot, sayin’ that I was 
cornin’ to see Ben. But I didn’t come to see 
Ben — I wanted to look at you. I reckon 
you knowed that. A woman can’t help but 
see when a man’s in love with her. But 
you’ve never give me a chance to tell you. 
I’m tellin’ you now. I want you to marry 
me. I’m range boss for the Two Diamond 
an’ I’ve got some stock that’s my own, an’ 
money in the bank over in Cimarron. I’ll 
put up a shack a few miles down the river 
an ! 


226 


LEV I ATT TAKES A STEP 


“Stop!” commanded Miss Radford im- 
periously. 

Leviatt had been speaking rapidly, ab- 
sorbed in his subject, assurance shining in 
his face. But at Miss Radford’s command 
he broke off suddenly and stiffened, surprise 
widening his eyes. 

“You have said enough,” she continued; 
“quite enough. I have never thought of you 
as a possible admirer. I certainly have done 
nothing that might lead you to believe I 
would marry you. I do not even like you — 
not even respect you. I am not certain that 
I shall ever marry, but if I do, I certainly 
shall not marry a man whose every look is 
an insult.” 

She turned haughtily and began to gather 
up her papers. There had been no excite- 
ment in her manner; her voice had been 
steady, even, and tempered with a slight 
scorn. 

For a brief space Leviatt stood, while the 
full significance of her refusal ate slowly 
into his consciousness. Whatever hopes he 
might have had had been swept away in 
227 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


those few short, pithy sentences. His pas- 
sion checked, the structure erected by his 
imagination toppled to ruin, his vanity hurt, 
he stood before her stripped of the veneer 
that had made him seem, heretofore, nearly 
the man he professed to be. 

In her note book had been written: 
“Dave Leviatt. . . . One rather gets 

the impression that the stoop is a reflection 
of the man’s nature, which seems vindictive 
and suggests a low cunning. His eyes are 
small, deep set, and glitter when he talks. 
But they are steady and cold — almost merci- 
less. One’s thoughts go instantly to the 
tiger. I shall try to create that impression 
in the reader’s mind.” 

And now as she looked at him she was 
sure that task would not be difficult. She 
had now an impression of him that seemed 
as though it had been seared into her mind. 
The eyes that she had thought merciless were 
now glittering malevolently, and she shud- 
dered at the satyric upward curve of his lips 
as he stepped close to the rock and placed a 
hand upon the mass of manuscript lying 
228 


LEFIATT TAKES A STEP 


there, that she had previously dropped, to 
prevent her leaving. 

“So you don’t love me?” he sneered. “You 
don’t even respect me. Why? Because 
you’ve taken a shine to that damned 
maverick that come here from Dry Bottom 
— Stafford’s new stray-man!” 

“That is my business,” she returned icily. 

“It sure is,” he said, the words writhing 
venomously through his lips. “An’ it’s my 
business too. There ain’t any damned ” 

He had glanced suddenly downward while 
he had been talking and his gaze rested upon 
an upturned page of the manuscript that lay 
beside him on the rock. He broke off speak- 
ing and reaching down took up the page, 
his eyes narrowing with interest. The page 
he had taken up was one from the first 
chapter and described in detail the shooting 
match in Dry Bottom. It was a truthful 
picture of what had actually happened. She 
had even used the real names of the char- 
acters. Leviatt saw a reference to the 
“Silver Dollar” saloon, to the loungers, to 
the stranger who had ridden up and who sat 
S29 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


on his pony near the hitching rail, and who 
was called Ferguson. He saw his own 
name; read the story of how the stranger 
had eclipsed his feat by putting six bullets 
into the can. 

He dropped the page to the rock and 
looked up at Miss Radford with a short 
laugh. 

“So that’s what you’re writin’?” he 
sneered. “You’re writin’ somethin’ that 
really happened. You’re even writin’ the 
real names an’ tellin’ how Stafford’s stray- 
man butted in an’ beat me shootin’. You 
knowin’ this shows that him an’ you has been 
travelin’ pretty close together.” 

For an instant Miss Radford forgot her 
anger. Her eyes snapped with a sudden 
interest. 

“Were you the man who hit the can five 
times?” she questioned, unable to conceal her 
eagerness. 

She saw a flush slowly mount to his face. 
Evidently he had said more than he had in- 
tended. 

“Well, if I am?” he returned, his lips 
^30 


LEV I ATT TAKES A STEP 


writhing in a sneer. “Him heatin’ me shoot- 
in’ that way don’t prove nothin’.” 

She was now becoming convinced of her 
cleverness. From Ben’s description of the 
man who had won the shooting match she 
had been able to lead Ferguson to the ad- 
mission that he had been the central char- 
acter in that incident, and now it had tran- 
spired that Leviatt was the man he had 
beaten. This had been the way she had writ- 
ten it in the story. So far the plot that had 
been born of her imagination had proved to 
be the story of a real occurrence. 

She had counted upon none but im- 
aginary characters, — though she had deter- 
mined to clothe these with reality through 
study — but now, she had discovered, she had 
been the chronicler of a real incident, and 
two of her characters had been pitted against 
each other in a contest in which there had 
been enough bitterness to provide the animus 
necessary to carry them through succeeding 
pages, ready and willing to fly at each 
other’s throats. She was not able to conceal 
her satisfaction over the discovery, and when 
231 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


she looked at Leviatt again she smiled broad- 
ly. 

“That confession explains a great many 
things/' she said, stooping to recover the 
page that he had dropped beside her upon 
the rock. 

“Meanin’ what?” he questioned, his eyes 
glittering evilly. 

“Meaning that I now know why you are 
not friendly toward Mr. Ferguson,” she re- 
turned. “I heard that he beat you in the 
shooting match,” she went on tauntingly, 
“and then when you insulted him after- 
wards, he talked very plainly to you.” 

The moment she had spoken she realized 
that her words had hurt him, for he paled 
and his eyes narrowed venomously. But his 
voice was cold and steady. 

“Was Mr. Ferguson tellin’ you that?” he 
inquired, succeeding in placing ironic em- 
phasis upon the prefix. 

She was arranging the contents of her 
hand bag and she did not look up as she 
answered him. 

“That is my business,” she returned quiet- 
^32 


LEVIATT TAKES A STEP 


ly. “But I don’t mind telling you that the 
man who told me about the occurrence would 
not lie about it.” 

“It’s nice that you’ve got such a heap of 
faith in him,” he sneered. 

It was plain to her that he thought Fer- 
guson had told her about the shooting match, 
and it was equally plain that he still har- 
bored evil thoughts against the stray-man. 
And also, he suspected that something more 
than mere friendship existed between her 
and Ferguson. She had long hoped that one 
day she might be given the opportunity of 
meeting in person a man whose soul was con- 
sumed with jealousy, in order that she might 
be able to gain some impressions of the in- 
tensity of his passion. This seemed to be her 
opportunity. Therefore she raised her chin 
a little and looked at him with a tantalizing 
smile. 

“Of course I have faith in him,” she de- 
clared, with a slight, biting emphasis. “I 
believe in him — absolutely.” 

She saw his lips twitch. “Sure,” he 
sneered, “you was just beginnin’ to believe 
233 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


in him that day when you was holdin’ hands 
with him — ^just about here. I reckon he was 
enjoyin’ himself.” 

She started, but smiled immediately. “So 
you saw that?” she inquired, knowing that 
he had, but taking a keen delight in seeing 
that he still remembered. But this conver- 
sation was becoming too personal; she had 
no desire to argue this point with him, even 
to get an impression of the depth of his 
passion, so she gathered up her belongings 
and prepared to depart. But he stepped 
deliberately in front of her, barring the way 
of escape. His face was aflame with pas- 
sion. 

“I seen him holdin’ your hand,” he said, 
his voice trembling; “I seen that he was 
holdin’ it longer than he had any right. An’ 
I seen you pull your hand away when you 
thought I was lookin’ at you. I reckon 
you’ve taken a shine to him; he’s the kind 
that the women like — with his slick ways an’ 
smooth palaver — an’ his love makin’.” He 
laughed with his lips only, his eyes narrowed 
to glittering pin points. She had not 
234 


LEVIATT TAKES A STEP 


thought that jealousy could make a person 
half so repulsive. 

“If you’re lovin’ him,” he continued, lean- 
ing toward her, his muscles tense, his lips 
quivering with a passion that he was no 
longer able to repress, “I’m tellin’ you that 
you’re wastin’ your time. You wouldn’t 
think so much of him if you knowed that he 
come here ” 

Leviatt had become aware that Miss Rad- 
ford was not listening; that she was no 
longer looking at him, but at something be- 
hind him. At the instant he became aware 
of this he turned sharply in his tracks, his 
right hand falling swiftly to his holster. Not 
over half a dozen paces distant stood Ben 
Radford, gravely watching. 

“Mebbe you folks are rehearsing a scene 
from that story,” he observed quietly. “I 
wasn’t intending to interrupt, but I heard 
loud talking and I thought mebbe it wasn’t 
anything private. So I just got off my 
horse and climbed up here, to satisfy my 
curiosity.” 

Leviatt’s hand fell away from the holster, 
^35 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


a guilty grin overspreading his face. “I 
reckon we wasn’t rehearsin’ any scene,” he 
said, trying to make the words come easily. 
“I was just tellin’ your sister that- ” 

Miss Radford laughed banteringly. “You 
have spoiled a chapter in my book, Ben,” 
she declared with pretended annoyance ; 
“Mr. Leviatt had just finished proposing to 
me and was at the point where he was sup- 
posed to speak bitter words about his rival.” 
She laughed again, gazing at Leviatt with 
mocking eyes. “Of course, I shall never be 
able to tell my readers what he might have 
said, for you appeared at a most inoppor- 
tune time. But he has taught me a great 
deal — ^much more, in fact, than I ever ex- 
pected from him.” 

She bowed mockingly. “I am very, very 
much obliged to you, Mr. Leviatt,” she said, 
placing broad emphasis upon her words. “I 
promise to try and make a very interesting 
character of you — there were times when you 
were most dramatic.” 

She bowed to Leviatt and flashed a daz- 
zling smile at her brother. Then she walked 
236 


LEVIATT TAKES A STEP 


past Leviatt, picked her way daintily over 
the loose stones on the hillside, and de- 
scended to the level where she had tethered 
her pony. Ben stood grinning admiringly 
after her as she mounted and rode out into 
the flat. Then he turned to Leviatt, soberly 
contemplating him. 

‘T don’t think you were rehearsing for the 
book,” he said quietly, an undercurrent of 
humor in his voice. 

“She was funnin’ me,” returned Leviatt, 
his face reddening. 

“I reckon she was,” returned Ben dryly. 
“She’s certainly some clever at handing it to 
a man.” He smiled down into the flat, 
where Miss Radford could still be seen, rid- 
ing toward the cabin. “Looks as though she 
wasn’t quite ready to change her name to 
‘Leviatt’,” he grinned. 

But there was no humor in Leviatt’s re- 
flections. He stood for a moment, looking 
down into the flat, the expression of his face 
morose and sullen. Ben’s bantering words 
only added fuel to the flame of rage and dis- 
appointment that was burning flercely in his 
237 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


heart. Presently the hard lines of his lips 
disappeared and he smiled craftily. 

“She’s about ready to change her name,” 
he said. “Only she ain’t figgerin’ that it’s 
goin’ to be Leviatt.” 

“You’re guessing now,” returned Ben 
sharply. 

Leviatt laughed oddly. “I reckon I ain’t 
doin’ any guessin’,” he returned. “You’ve 
been around her a heap an’ been seein’ her 
consid’able, but you ain’t been usin’ your 
eyes.” 

“Meaning what?” demanded Ben, an 
acid-like coldness in his voice. 

“Meanin’ that if you’d been usin’ your 
eyes you’d have seen that she’s some took up 
with Stafford’s new stray-man.” 

“Well,” returned Ben, “she’s her own 
boss. If she’s made friends with Ferguson 
that’s her business.” He laughed. “She’s 
certainly clever,” he added, “and mebbe she’s 
got her own notion as to why she’s made 
friends with him. She’s told me that she’s 
goin’ to make him a character in the book 
she’s writing. Likely she’s stringing him.” 

238 


LEV I ATT TAKES A STEP 


“I reckon she ain’t stringin’ him,” de- 
clared Leviatt. “A girl ain’t doin’ much 
stringin’ when she’s holdin’ a man’s hand an’ 
blushin’ when somebody ketches her at it.” 

There was a slight sneer in Leviatt’s voice 
which drew a sharp glance from Radford. 
For an instant his face clouded and he was 
about to make a sharp reply. But his face 
cleared immediately and he smiled. 

“I’m banking on her being able to take 
care of herself,” he returned. “Her holding 
Ferguson’s hand proves nothing. Likely 
she was trying to get an impression — she’s 
always telling me that. But she’s running 
her own game, and if she is stringing Fer- 
guson that’s her business, and if she thinks 
a good bit of him that’s her business, too. If 
a man ain’t jealous, he might be able to see 
that Ferguson ain’t a half bad sort of a 
man.” 

An evil light leaped into Leviatt’s eyes. 
He turned and faced Radford, words com- 
ing from his lips coldly and incisively. 
“When you interrupted me,” he said, “I was 
goin’ to tell your sister about Ferguson. 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Mebbe if I tell you what I was goin’ to tell 
her it’ll make you see things some different. 
A while ago Stafford was wantin’ to hire a 
gunfighter.” He shot a significant glance 
at Radford, who returned it steadily. “I 
reckon you know what he wanted a gun- 
fighter for. He got one. His name’s Fer- 
guson. He’s gettin’ a hundred dollars a 
month for the season, to put Ben Radford 
out of business !” 

The smile had gone from Radford’s face ; 
his lips were tightly closed, his eyes cold and 
alert. 

“You lying about Ferguson because you 
think he’s friendly with Mary?” he ques- 
tioned quietly. 

Leviatt’s right hand dropped swiftly to 
his holster. But Radford laughed harshly. 
“Quit it!” he said sharply. “I ain’t sayin’ 
you’re a liar, but what you’ve said makes 
you liable to be called that until you’ve 
proved you ain’t. How do you know Fer- 
guson’s been hired to put me out of busi- 
ness?” 

Leviatt laughed. “Stafford an’ me went 
240 


LEVIATT TAKES A STEP 


to Dry Bottom to get a gunfighter. I shot 
a can in the street in front of the Silver 
Dollar so’s Stafford would be able to get a 
line on anyone tryin’ to beat my game. Fer- 
guson done it an’ Stafford hired him.” ^ 

Radford’s gaze was level and steady. 
“Then you’ve knowed right along that he 
was lookin’ for me,” he said coldly. “Why 
didn’t you say something about it before. 
You’ve been claiming to be my friend.” 

Leviatt flushed, shifting uneasily from 
one foot to the other, but watching Radford 
with alert and suspicious glances. “Why,” 
he returned shortly, “I’m range boss for the 
Two Diamond an’ I ain’t hired to tell what 
I know. I reckon you’d think I was a hell 
of a man to be tellin’ things that I ain’t got 
no right to tell.” 

“But you’re telling it now,” returned Rad- 
ford, his eyes narrowing a little. 

“Yes,” returned Leviatt quietly, “I am. 
An’ you’re callin’ me a liar for it. But I’m 
teUin’ you to wait. Mebbe you’ll tumble. I 
reckon you ain’t heard how Ferguson’s been 
tellin’ the boys that he went down to your 
241 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


cabin one night claimin’ to have been bit by 
a rattler, because he wanted to get ac- 
quainted with you an’ pot you some day 
when you wasn’t expectin’ it. An’ then 
after he’d stayed all night in your cabin 
he was braggin’ to the boys that he reckoned 
on makin’ a fool of your sister. Oh, he’s 
some slick!” he concluded, a note of triumph 
in his voice. 

Radford started, his face paling a little. 
He had thought it strange that an ex- 
perienced plainsman — as Ferguson ap- 
peared to be — should have been bitten by a 
rattler in the manner he had described. And 
then he had been hanging around the 

“Mebbe you might think it’s onusual for 
Stafford to hire a two-gun man to look after 
strays,” broke in Leviatt at this point. 
“Two-gun men ain’t takin’ such jobs regu- 
lar,” he insinuated. “Stray-men is usual 
low-down, mean, ornery cusses which ain’t 
much good for anything else, an’ so they 
spend their time mopin’ around, doin’ work 
that ain’t fit for any puncher to do.” 

Radford had snapped himself erect, his 
242 


LEVIATT TAKES A STh. 


lips straightening. He suddenly held out a 
hand to Leviatt. “I’m thanking you,” he 
said steadily. “It’s rather late for you to be 
telling me, but I think it’s come in time any- 
way. I’m watching him for a little while, 

and if things are as you say ” He broke 

off, his voice filled with a significant grim- 
ness. “So-long,” he added. 

He turned and descended the slope of the 
hill. An instant later Leviatt saw him lop- 
ing his pony toward the cabin. For a few 
minutes Leviatt gazed after him, his eyes 
alight with satisfaction. Then he, too, de- 
scended the slope of the hill and mounted his 
pony. 


A' 


24S 


CHAPTER XVII 


A BREAK IN THE STORY 


M ary RADFORD had found the 
day too beautiful to remain indoors 
and so directly after dinner she had 
caught up her pony and was off for a ride 
through the cottonwood. She had been com- 
pelled to catch up the pony herself, for of 
late Ben had been neglectful of this duty. 
Until the last week or so he had always 
caught her pony and placed the saddle on it 
before leaving in the morning, assuring her 
that if she did not ride during his absence the 
pony would not suffer through being 
saddled and bridled. But within the last 
week she thought she detected a change in 
Ben’s manner. He seemed preoccupied and 
glum, falling suddenly into a taciturnity 
244 


A BREAK IN THE STORY 


broken only by brief periods during which 
he condescended to reply to her questions 
with — it seemed — grudging monosyllables. 

Several times, too, she had caught him 
watching her with furtive glances in which, 
she imagined, she detected a glint of specu- 
lation. But of this she was not quite sure, 
for when she bluntly questioned him con- 
cerning his moods he had invariably given 
her an evasive reply. Fearing that there 
might have been a recurrence of the old 
trouble with the Two Diamond manager — 
about which he had told her during her first 
days at the cabin — she ventured a question. 
He had grimly assured her that he antici- 
pated no further trouble in that direction. 
So, unable to get a direct reply from him she 
had decided that perhaps he would speak 
when the time came, and so she had ceased 
questioning. 

In spite of his negligence regarding the 
pony, she had not given up her rides. Nor 
had she neglected to give a part of each 
morning to the story. 

The work of gradually developing her 
245 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


hero’s character had been an absorbing task ; 
times when she lingered over the pages of 
the story she found herself wondering 
whether she had sounded the depths of his 
nature. She knew, at least, that she had 
made him attractive, for as he moved among 
her pages, she — ^who should have been 
satiated with him because of being compelled 
to record his every word and movement — 
found his magnetic personality drawing her 
applause, found that he haunted her dreams, 
discovered one day that her waking mo- 
ments were filled with thoughts of him. 

But of late she had begun to suspect that 
her interest in him was not all on account of 
the story; there were times when she sat long 
thinking of him, seeing him, watching the 
lights and shadows of expression come and 
go in his face. Somewhere between the real 
Ferguson and the man who was impersonat- 
ing him in her story was an invisible line 
that she could not trace. There were times 
when she could not have told whether the 
character she admired belonged to the real 
or the unreal. 

^46 


A BREAK IN THE STORY 


She was thinking much of this to-day 
while she rode into the subdued light of the 
cottonwood. Was she, absorbed in the task 
of putting a real character in her story, to 
confess that her interest in him was not 
wholly the interest of the artist who sees the 
beauties and virtues of a model only long 
enough to paint them into the picture? The 
blushes came when she suddenly realized 
that her interest was not wholly professional, 
that she had lately lingered long over her 
model, at times when she had not been think- 
ing of the story at all. 

Then, too, she had considered her friends 
in the East. What would they say if they 
knew of her friendship with the Two Dia- 
mond stray-man? The standards of Eastern 
civilization were not elastic enough to in- 
clude the man whom she had come to know 
so well, who had strode as boldly into her 
life as he had strode into her story, with his 
steady, serene eyes, his picturesque rigging, 
and his two guns, their holsters tied so sug- 
gestively and forebodingly down. Would 
her friends be able to see the romance in 
247 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


him? Would they be able to estimate him 
according to the standards of the world in 
which he lived, in which he moved so grace- 
fully? 

She was aware that, measured by Eastern 
standards, Ferguson fell far short of the 
average in those things that combine to pro- 
duce the polished gentleman. Yet she was 
also aware that these things were mere ac- 
complishments, a veneer acquired through 
constant practice — and that usually the per- 
son known as “gentleman” could not be dis- 
tinguished by these things at all — that the 
real “gentleman” could be known only 
through the measure of his quiet and 
genuine consideration and unfailing Chris- 
tian virtues. 

As she rode through the cottonwood, into 
that deep solitude which brings with it a 
mighty reverence for nature and a solemn 
desire for communion with the soul — that 
solitude in which all affectation disappears 
and man is face to face with his Maker — she 
tried to think of Ferguson in an Eastern 
drawing room, attempting a sham courtesy, 
248 


A BREAK IN THE STORY 


affecting mannerisms that more than once 
had brought her own soul into rebellion. 
But she could not get him into the imaginary 
picture. He did not belong there; it seemed 
that she was trying to force a living figure 
into a company of mechanical puppets. And 
so they were — puppets who answered to the 
pulling strings of precedent and established 
convention. 

But at the same time she knew that this 
society which she affected to despise would 
refuse to accept him; that if by any chance 
he should be given a place in it he would be 
an object of ridicule, or at the least passive 
contempt. The world did not want origin- 
ality; would not welcome in its drawing 
room the free, unaffected child of nature. 
No, the world wanted pretense, imitation. 
It frowned upon truth and applauded the 
sycophant. 

She was not even certain that if she suc- 
ceeded in making Ferguson a real living 
character the world would be interested in 
him. But she had reached that state of 
mind in which she cared very little about the 
249 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


world’s opinion. She, at least, was in- 
terested in him. 

Upon the same afternoon — for there is 
no rule for the mere incidents of life — Fer- 
guson loped his pony through the shade of 
the cottonwood. He was going to visit the 
cabin in Bear Flat. Would she be at home? 
Would she be glad to see him? He could 
not bring his mind to give him an affirmative 
answer to either of these questions. 

But of one thing he was certain — she had 
treated him differently from the other Two 
Diamond men who had attempted to win 
her friendship. Was he to think then that 
she cared very little whether he came to the 
cabin or not? He smiled over his pony’s 
mane at the thought. He could not help 
but see that she enjoyed his visits. 

When he rode up to the cabin he found it 
deserted, but with a smile he remounted 
Mustard and set out over the river trail, 
through the cottonwood. He was sure that 
he would find her on the hill in the flat, and 
when he had reached the edge of the cotton- 
wood opposite the hill he saw her. 

250 


A BREAK lA THE STORY, 


When she heard the clatter of his pony’s 
hoofs she turned anc' saw him, waving a 
hand at him. 

“I reckoned on findin’ you here,” he said 
when he came close enough to be heard. 

She shyly made room for him beside her 
on the rock,, but there was mischief in her 
,eye. “It seems impossible to hide from 
you,” she said with a pretense of annoyance. 

He laughed as he came around the edge of 
the rock and sat near her. “Was you really 
tryin’ to hide?” he questioned. “Because if 
you was,” he continued, “you hadn’t ought 
to have got up on this hill — ^where I could 
see you without even lookin’ for you.” 

“But of course you were not looking for 
me,” she observed quietly. 

He caught her gaze and held it — steadily. 
“I reckon I was lookin’ for you,” he said. 

“Why — ^why,” she returned, suddenly 
fearful that something had happened to Ben 
— “is anything wrong?” 

He smiled. “Nothin’ is wrong,” he re- 
turned. “But I wanted to talk to you, an’ 
I expected to find you here.” 

251 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


There was a gentleness in his voice that 
she had not heard before, and a quiet signif- 
icance to his words tha^' made her eyes droop 
away from his with slight confusion. She 
replied without looking at him. 

“But I came here to write,” she said. 

He gravely considered her, drawing one 
foot up on the rock and clasping his hands 
about the knee. “I’ve thought a lot about 
that book,” he declared with a trace of em- 
barrassment, “since you told me that you 
was goin’ to put real men an’ women in it. 
I expect you’ve made them do the things 
that you’ve wanted them to do an’ made 
them say what you wanted them to say. That 
part is right an’ proper — there wouldn’t be 
any sense of anyone writin’ a book unless 
they could put into it what they thought was 
right. But what’s been botherin’ me is this : 
how can you tell whether the things you’ve 
made them say is what they would have said 
if they’d had any chance to talk? An’ how 
can you tell what their feelin’s would be 
when you set them doin’ somethin’?” 

She laughed. “That is a prerogative 
252 


A BREAK IN THE STORY 


which the writer assumes without question,” 
she returned. “The author of a novel makes 
his characters think and act as the author 
himself imagines he would act in the same 
circumstances.” 

He looked at her with amused eyes. 
“That’s just what I was tryin’ to get at,” 
he said. “You’ve put me into your book, 
an’ you’ve made me do an’ say things out of 
your mind. But you don’t know for sure 
whether I would have done an’ said things 
just like you’ve wrote them. Mebbe if I 
would have had somethin’ to say I wouldn’t 
have done things your way at all.” 

“I am sure you would,” she returned 
positively. 

“Well, now,” he returned smiling, “you’re 
speakin’ as though you was pretty certain 
about it. You must have wrote a whole lot 
of the story.” 

“It is two-thirds finished,” she returned 
with a trace of satisfaction in her voice which 
did not escape him. 

“An’ you’ve got all your characters doin’ 
an’ thinkin’ things that you think they ought 
25S 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


to do?” His eyes gleamed craftily. ‘‘You 
got a man an’ a girl in it?” 

“Of course.” 

“An’ they’re goin’ to love one another?” 

“No other outcome is popular with novel 
readers,” she returned. 

He rocked back and forth, his eyes lan- 
guidly surveying the rim of hills in the dis- 
tance. 

“I expect that outcome is popular in real 
life too,” he observed. “Nobody ever hears 
about it when it turns out some other way.” 

“I expect love is always a popular sub- 
ject,” she returned smiling. 

His eyes were still languid, his gaze still 
on the rim of distant hills. 

“You got any love talk in there — between 
the man an’ the girl?” he questioned. 

“Of course.” 

“That’s mighty interestin’,” he returned. 
“I expect they do a good bit of mushin’?” 

“They do not talk extravagantly,” she 
defended. 

“Then I expect it must be pretty good,” 
he returned. “I don’t like mushy love 
254 


A BREAK IN THE STORY 


stories.” And now he turned and looked 
fairly at her. “Of course,” he said slyly, 
“I don’t know whether it’s necessary or not, 
but I’ve been thinkin’ that to write a good 
love story the writer ought to be in love. 
Whoever was writin’ would know more 
about how it feels to be in love.” 

She admired the cleverness with which he 
had led her up to this point, but she was not 
to be trapped. She met his eyes fairly. 

“I am sure it is not necessary for the 
writer to be in love,” she said quietly but 
positively. “I flatter myself that my love 
scenes are rather real, and I have not found 
it necessary to love anyone.” 

This reply crippled him instantly. “Well, 
now,” he said, eyeing her, she thought, a bit 
reproachfully, “that comes pretty near 
stumpin’ me. But,” he added, a subtle ex- - 
pression coming again into his eyes, “you 
say you’ve got only two-thirds finished. 
Mebbe you’ll be in love before you get it all 
done. An’ then mebbe you’ll find that you 
didn’t get it right an’ have to do it all over 
again. That would sure be too bad, when 
255 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


you could have got in love an’ wrote it real 
in the first place.” 

“I don’t think that I shall fall in love,” 
she said laughing. 

He looked quickly at her, suddenly grave. 
“I wouldn’t want to think you meant that,” 
he said. 

“Why?” she questioned in a low voice, her 
laughter subdued by his earnestness. 

“Why,” he said steadily, as though stat- 
ing a perfectly plain fact, “I’ve thought 
right along that you liked me. Of course I 
ain’t been fool enough to think that you 
loved me” — and now he reddened a little — , 
“but I don’t deny that I’ve hoped that you 
would.” 

“Oh, dear!” she laughed; “and so you 
have planned it all out ! And I was hoping 
that you would not prove so deep as that. 
You know,” she went on, “you promised me 
a long while ago that you would not fall in 
love with me.” 

“I don’t reckon that I said that,” he re- 
turned. “I told you that I wasn’t goin’ to 
get fresh. I reckon I ain’t fresh now. But 
256 


'A BREAK IN THE STORY 


I expect I couldn’t help lovin’ you — I’ve 
done that since the first day.” 

She could not stop the blushes — they 
would come. And so would that thrilling, 
breathless exultation. No man had ever 
talked to her like this; no man had ever 
made her feel quite as she felt at this 
moment. She turned a crimson face to him. 

“But you hadn’t any right to love me,” 
she declared, feeling sure that she had been 
unable to make him understand that she 
meant to rebuke him. Evidently he did not 
understand that she meant to do that, for 
he unclasped his hand from his knee and 
came closer to her, standing at the edge of 
the rock, one hand resting upon it. 

“Of course I didn’t have any right,” he 
said gravely, “but I loved you just the same. 
There’s been some things in my life that I 
couldn’t help doin’. Lovin’ you is one. I 
expect that you’ll think I’m pretty fresh, 
but I’ve been thinkin’ a whole lot about you 
an’ I’ve got to tell you. You ain’t like the 
women I’ve been used to. An’ I reckon I 
ain’t just the kind of man you’ve been ac- 
257 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


quainted with all your life. You’ve been 
used to seein’ men who was all slicked up an’ 
clever. I expect them kind of men appeal 
to any woman. I ain’t claimin’ to be none 
of them clever kind, but I’ve been around 
quite a little an’ I ain’t never done anything 
that I’m ashamed of. I can’t offer you a 
heap, but if you ” 

She had looked up quickly, her cheeks 
burning. 

“Please don’t,” she pleaded, rising and 
placing a hand on his arm, gripping it tight- 
ly. “I have known for a long time, but I— 
I wanted to be sure.” He could not suspect 
that she had only just now begun to realize 
that she was in danger of yielding to him and 
that the knowledge frightened her. 

“You wanted to be sure?” he questioned, 
his face clouding. “What is it that you 
wanted to be sure of?” 

“Why,” she returned, laughing to hide her 
embarrassment, “I wanted to be sure that 
you loved me!” 

“Well, you c’n be sure now,” he said. 

“I believe I can,” she laughed. “And,” 
258 


A BREAK IN THE STORYi 


she continued, finding it difficult to pretend 
seriousness, “knowing what I do will make 
writing so much easier.” 

His face clouded again. “I don’t see 
what your writin’ has got to do with it,” he 
said. 

“You don’t?” she demanded, her eyes 
widening with pretended surprise. “Why, 
don’t you see that I wanted to be sure of 
your love so that I might be able to portray 
a real love scene in my story?” 

He did not reply instantly, but folded his 
arms over his chest and stood looking at her. 
In his expression was much reproach and 
not a little disappointment. The hopes that 
had filled his dreams had been ruined by her 
frivolous words ; he saw her at this moment 
a woman who had trifled with him, who had 
led him cleverly on to a declaration of love 
that she might in the end sacrifice him to her 
art. But in this moment, when he might 
have been excused for exhibiting anger; for 
heaping upon her the bitter reproaches of an 
outraged confidence, he was supremely calm. 
The color fled from his face, leaving it slight- 
259 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


ly pale, and his eyes swam with a deep feel- 
ing that told of the struggle that he was 
making. 

“I didn’t think you’d do it, ma’am,” he said 
finally, a little hoarsely. “But I reckon you 
know your own business best.” He smiled 
slightly. “I don’t think there’s any use of 
you an’ me meetin’ again — I don’t want to 
be goin’ on, bein’ a dummy man that you 
c’n watch. But I’m glad to have amused 
you some an’ I have enjoyed myself, talkin’ 
to you. But I reckon you’ve done what you 
wanted to do, an’ so I’ll be gettin’ along.” 

He smiled grimly and with an effort 
turned and walked around the corner of the 
rock, intending to descend the hill and mount 
his pony. But as he passed around to the 
side of the rock he heard her voice ; 

“Wait, please,” she said in a scarcely 
audible voice. 

He halted, looking gravely at her from 
the opposite side of the rock. 

“You wantin’ to get somethin’ more for 
your story?” he asked. 

She turned and looked over her shoulder 
260 


L4 BREAK IN THE STORY 


at him, her eyes luminous with a tell-tale ex- 
pression, her face crimson. “Why,” she 
said smiling at him, “do you really think 
that I could be so mean?” 

He was around the rock again in half a 
dozen steps and standing above her, his eyes 
alight, his lips parted slightly with surprise 
and eagerness. 

“Do you mean that you wantin’ to make 
sure that I loved you wasn’t all for the sake 
of the story?” he demanded rapidly. 

Her eyes drooped away from his. “Didn’t 
you tell me that a writer should be in love in 
order to be able to write of it?” she asked, 
her face averted. 

“Yes.” He was trembling a little and 
leaning toward her. In this position he 
caught her low reply. 

“I think my love story will be real,” she 
returned. “I have learned ” But what- 

ever she might have wanted to add was 
smothered when his arms closed tightly 
about her. 

A little later she drew a deep breath and 
looked up at him with moist, eloquent eyes. 

261 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


“Perhaps I shall have to change the story 
a little,” she said. 

He drew her head to his shoulder, one 
hand caressing her hair. “If you do,” he 
said smiling, “don’t have the hero thinkin’ 
that the girl is makin’ a fool of him.” He 
drew her close. “That cert’nly was a mighty 
bad minute you give me,” he added. 


263 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE DIM TRAIL. 

SHADOW fell upon the rock. 
Ferguson turned his head and 
looked toward the west, where the 
sun had already descended over the moun- 
tains. 

“Why it’s sundown!” he said, smiling into 
Miss Radford’s eyes. “I reckon the days 
must be gettin’ shorter.” 

“The happy days are always short,” she 
returned, blushing. He kissed her for this. 

For a while they sat, watching together 
the vari-colors swimming in the sky. They 
sat close together, saying "little, for mere 
words are sometimes inadequate. In a little 
time the colors faded, the mountain peaks 
began to throw sombre shades; twilight — 

m 



THE TWO-GUN MAN 


gray and cold — settled suddenly into the 
flat. Then Miss Radford raised her head 
from Ferguson’s shoulder and sighed. 

“Time to go home,” she said. 

“Yes, time,” he returned. “I’m ridin’ 
down that far with you.” 

They rose and clambered down the hill- 
side and he helped her into the saddle. Then 
he mounted Mustard and rode across the flat 
beside her. 

Darkness had fallen when they rode 
through the clearing near the cabin and dis- 
mounted from their ponies at the door. The 
light from the kerosene lamp shone in a dim 
stream from the kitchen door and within 
they saw dishes on the table with cold food. 
Ferguson stood beside his pony while Miss 
Radford went in and explored the cabin. 
She came to the door presently, shading her 
eyes to look out into the darkness. 

“Ben has been here and gone,” she said. 
“He can’t be very far away. Won’t you 
come in?” 

He laughed. “I don’t think I’ll come in,” 
he returned. “This lover business is new to 
^64 


THE DIM TRAIL 


me, an’ I wouldn’t want Ben to come back 
an’ ketch me blushin’ an’ takin’ on.” 

“But he has to know,” she insisted, laugh- 
ing. 

“Sure,” he said, secure in the darkness, 
“but you tell him.” 

“I won’t!” she declared positively, stamp- 
ing a foot. 

“Then I reckon he won’t get told,” he re- 
turned quietly. 

“Well, then,” she said, laughing, “I sup- 
pose that is settled.” 

She came out to the edge of the porch, 
away from the door, where the stream of 
light from within could not search them out, 
and there they took leave of one another, 
she going back into the cabin and he mount- 
ing Mustard and riding away in the dark- 
ness. 

He was in high spirits, for he had much 
to be thankful for. As he rode through the 
darkness, skirting the cottonwood in the flat, 
he allowed his thoughts to wander. His re- 
fusal to enter the cabin had not been a mere 
whim; he intended on the morrow to seek 
^65 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


out Ben and tell him. He had not wanted 
to tell him with her looking on to make the 
situation embarrassing for him. 

When he thought of how she had fooled 
him by making it appear that she had led 
him on for the purpose of getting material 
for her love story, he was moved to silent 
mirth. “But I cert’nly didn’t see anything 
funny in it while she was puttin’ it on,” he 
told himself, as he rode. 

He had not ridden more than a quarter 
of a mile from the cabin, and was passing a 
clump of heavy shrubbery, when a man rose 
suddenly out of the shadows beside the trail. 
Startled, Mustard reared, and then seeing 
that the apparition was merely a man, he 
came quietly down and halted, shaking his 
head sagely. Ferguson’s right hand had 
dropped swiftly to his right holster, but was 
raised again instantly as the man’s voice 
came cold and steady : 

“Get your hands up — quick!” 

Ferguson’s hands were raised, but he gave 
no evidence of fear or excitement. Instead, 
he leaned forward, trying, in the dim light, 
^66 


THE DIM TRAIL 


to see the man’s face. The latter still stood 
in the shadows. But now he advanced a 
little toward Ferguson, and the stray-man 
caught his breath sharply. But when he 
spoke his voice was steady. 

“Why, it’s Ben Radford,” he said. 

“That’s just who it is,” returned Radford. 
“I’ve been waitin’ for you.” 

“That’s right clever of you,” returned 
Ferguson, drawling his words a little. He 
was puzzled over this unusual occurrence, 
but his face did not betray this. “You was 
wantin’ to see me then,” he added. 

“You’re keen,” returned Radford, sneer- 
ing slightly. 

Ferguson’s face reddened. “I ain’t no 
damn fool,” he said sharply. “An’ I don’t 
like holdin’ my hands up like this. I reckon 
whatever you’re goin’ to do you ought to do 
right quick.” 

“I’m figuring to be quick,” returned Rad- 
ford shortly. “Ketch hold of your guns 
with the tips of one finger and one thumb 
and drop them. Don’t hit any rocks and 
don’t try any monkey business.” 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


He waited until Ferguson had dropped 
one gun. And then, knowing that the stray- 
man usually wore two weapons, he continued 
sharply: “I’m waiting for the other one.” 

Ferguson laughed. “Then you’ll be 
waitin’ a long time. There ain’t any ‘other 
one.’ Broke a spring yesterday an’ sent it 
over to Cimarron to get it fixed up. You 
c’n have it when it comes back,” he added 
with a touch of sarcasm, “if you’re carin’ to 
wait that long.” 

Radford did not reply, but came around 
to Ferguson’s left side and peered at the 
holster. It was empty. Then he looked 
carefully at the stray-man’s waist for signs 
that a weapon might have bee i concealed 
between the waist-band and the trousers — 
in front. Then, apparently satisfied, he 
stepped back, his lips closed grimly. 

“Get off your horse,” he ordered. 

Ferguson laughed as he swung down. 
“Anything to oblige a friend,” he said, mock- 
ingly. 

The two men were now not over a yard 
apart, and at Ferguson’s word Radford’s 
^68 


THE DIM TRAIL 


face became inflamed with wrath. ‘‘I don’t 
think I’m a friend of yours,” he sneered 
coldly; “I ain’t making friends with every 
damned sneak that crawls around the 
country, aiming to shoot a man in the back.” 
He raised his voice, bitter with sarcasm. 
“You’re thinking that you’re pretty slick,” 
he said,; “that all you have to do in this 
country is to hang around till you get a man 
where you want him and then bore him. But 
you’ve got to the end of your rope. You 
ain’t going to shoot anyone around here. 

“I’m giving you a chance to say what 
you’ve got to say and then I’m going to fill 
you full of lead and plant you over in the 
cottonwood^— in a place where no one will 
ever be able to find you — not even Stafford. 
I’d have shot you off your horse when you 
come arqund the bend,” he continued cold- 
ly, “but I wanted you to know who was do- 
ing it and that the man that did it knowed 
what you come here to do.” He poised his 
pistol menacingly. “You got anything to 
say?” he inquired. 

Ferguson looked steadily from the muzzle 
269 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


of the poised weapon to Radford’s frowning 
eyes. Then he smiled grimly. 

“Some one’s been talkin’,” he said evenly. 
He calmly crossed his arms over his chest, 
the right hand slipping carelessly under the 
left side of his vest. Then he rocked slowly 
back and forth on his heels and toes. “Some- 
one’s been tellin’ you a pack of lies,” he 
added. “I reckon you’ve wondered, if I was 
goin’ to shoot you in the back, that I ain’t 
done it long ago. You’re admittin’ that I’ve 
had some chance.” 

Radford sneered. “I ain’t wondering 
why you ain’t done it before,” he said. 
“Mebbe it was because you’re too white 
livered. Mebbe you thought you didn’t see 
your chance. I ain’t worrying none about 
why you didn’t do it. But you ain’t going 
to get another chance.” The weapon came 
to a foreboding level. 

Ferguson laughed grimly, but there was 
an ironic quality in his voice that caught 
Radford’s ear. It seemed to Radford that 
the stray-man knew that he was near death, 
and yet some particular phase of the situa- 

no 


THE DIM TRAIL 


tion appealed to his humor — grim though it 
was. It came out when the stray-man 
spoke. 

“You’ve been gassin’ just now about 
shootin’ people in the back — say in’ that I’ve 
been thinkin’ of doin’ it. But I reckon you 
ain’t thought a lot about the way you’re in- 
tendin’ to put me out of business. I was 
wonderin’ if it made any difference — shoot- 
in’ a man in the back or shootin’ him when 
he ain’t got any guns. I expect a man that’s 
shot when he ain’t got guns would be just 
as dead as a man that’s shot in the back, 
wouldn’t he?” 

He laughed again, his eyes gleaming in 
the dim light. “That’s the reason I ain’t 
scared a heap,” he said. “From what I 
know about you you ain’t the man to shoot 
another without givin’ him a chance. An’ 
you’re givin’ me a chance to talk. I ain’t 
goin’ to do any prayin’. I reckon that’s 
right?” 

. Radford shifted his feet uneasily. He 
could not have told at that moment whether 
or not he had intended to murder Ferguson. 

271 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


He had waylaid him with that intention, 
utterly forgetful that by shooting the stray- 
man he would be committing the very crime 
which he had accused Ferguson of contem- 
plating. The muzzle of his weapon drooped 
uncertainly. 

“Talk quick!” he said shortly. 

Ferguson grinned. “I’m takin’ my time,” 
he returned. “There ain’t any use of bein’ 
in such an awful hurry — time don’t amount 
to much when a man’s talkin’ for his life. 
I ain’t askin’ who told you what you’ve said 
about me — I’ve got a pretty clear idea who 
it was. I’ve had to tell a man pretty plain 
that my age has got its growth an’ I don’t 
think that man is admirin’ me much for bein’ 
told. But if he’s wantin’ to have me put 
out of business he’s goin’ to do the job him- 
self — Ben Radford ^in’t doin’ it.” 

While he had been talking he had con- 
trived to throw the left side of his vest open, 
and his right hand was exposed in the dim 
light — a heavy six-shooter gleaming fore- 
bodingly in it. His arms were still crossed, 
but as he talked he had turned a very little 
272 


THE DIM TRAIL 


and now the muzzle of the weapon was at a 
level — trained fairly upon Radford’s breast. 
And then came Ferguson’s voice again, 
quiet, cold, incisive. 

“If there’s goin’ to be any shootin’, Ben, 
there’ll be two of us doin’ it. Don’t be afraid 
that you’ll beat me to it.” And he stared 
grimly over the short space that separated 
them. 

For a full minute neither man moved a 
muscle. Silence — a premonitory silence — 
fell over them as they stood, each with a 
steady finger dragging uncertainly upon the 
trigger of his weapon. An owl hooted in the 
cottonwood nearby ; other noises of the night 
reached their ears. Unaware of this crisis 
Mustard grazed unconcernedly at a dis- 
tance. 

Then Radford’s weapon wavered a little 
and dropped to his side. 

“This game’s too certain,” he said. 

Ferguson laughed, and his six-shooter dis- 
appeared as mysteriously as it had ap- 
peared. “I thought I’d be able to make you 
see the point,” he said. “It don’t always 
273 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


pay to be in too much of a hurry to do a 
thing,” he continued gravely. “An’ I reckon 
I’ve proved that someone’s been lying about 
me. If I’d v^anted to shoot you I could 
have done it quite a spell ago — I had you 
covered just as soon as I crossed my arms. 
You’d never knowed about it. That I 
didn’t shoot proves that whoever told you I 
was after you has been romancin’.” He 
laughed. 

“An’ now I’m tellin’ you another thing 
that I was goin’ to tell you about to-morrow. 
Mebbe you’ll want to shoot me for that. 
But if you do I expect you’ll have a woman 
to fight. Me an’ Mary has found that we’re 
of one mind about a thing. We’re goin’ to 
hook up into a double harness. I reckon 
when I’m your brother-in-law you won’t be 
so worried about shootin’ me.” 

Radford’s astonishment showed for a 
moment in his eyes as his gaze met the stray- 
man’s. Then they drooped guiltily. 

“Well I’m a damn fool!” he said finally. 
“I might have knowed that Mary wouldn’t 
get afoul of any man who was thinkin’ of 
274 


THE DIM TRAIL 


doing dirt to me.” He suddenly extended a 
hand. “You shakin’?” he said. 

Ferguson took the hand, gripping it tight- 
ly. Neither man spoke. Then Radford 
suddenly unclasped his hand and turned, 
striding rapidly up the trail toward the 
cabin. 

For a moment Ferguson stood, looking 
after him with narrowed, friendly eyes. 
Then he walked to Mustard, threw the bridle 
rein over the pommel of the saddle, 
mounted, and was off at a rapid lope to- 
ward the Two Diamond. 


275 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE SHOT IN THE DARK 

N OW that Mary Radford had obtained 
experience for the love scene in her 
story it might be expected that on 
returning to the cabin she would get out her 
writing materials and attempt to transcribe 
the emotions that had beset her during the 
afternoon, but she did nothing of the kind. 
After Ferguson’s departure she removed her 
riding garments, walked several times 
around the interior of the cabin, and for a 
long time studied her face in the looking 
glass. Yes, she discovered the happiness 
shining out of the glass. Several times, 
standing before the glass, she attempted to 
keep the lines of her face in repose, and 
though she almost succeeded in doing this 
she could not control her eyes — they simply 
276 


THE SHOT IN THE DARK 


would gleam with the light that seemed to 
say to her: “You may deceive people by 
making a mask of your face, but the eyes are 
the windows of the soul and through them 
people will see your secret.” 

Ben hadn’t eaten much, she decided, as 
she seated herself at the table, after pouring 
a cup of tea. Before she had finished her 
meal she had begun to wonder over his ab- 
sence — it was not his custom to go away in 
the night. She thought he might have gone 
to the corral, or might even be engaged in 
some small task in the stable. So after com- 
pleting her meal she rose and went to the 
door, looking out. 

There was no moon, only the starlight, 
but in this she was able to distinguish objects 
in the clearing, and if Ben had been work- 
ing about anywhere she must have noticed 
him. She returned to the table and sat there 
long, pondering. Then she rose, heated 
some water, and washed and dried the 
dishes. Then she swept the kitchen fioor 
and tidied things up a bit, returning to the 
door when all was complete. 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Still no signs that Ben was anywhere in 
the vicinity. She opened the screen door 
and went out upon the porch, leaning 
against one of the slender posts. For a long 
time she stood thus, listening to the in- 
describable noises of the night. This was 
only the second time since she had been with 
Ben that he had left her alone at night, and 
a slight chill stole over her as she watched 
the dense shadows beyond the clearing, 
shadows that seemed suddenly dismal and 
foreboding. She had loved the silence, but 
now suddenly it too seemed too deep, too 
solemn to be real. She shuddered, and with 
some unaccountable impulse shrank back 
against the screen door, one hand upon it, 
ready to throw it open. In this position she 
stood for a few minutes, and then from 
somewhere in the flat came a slight sound — 
and then, after a short interval, another. 

She shrank back again, a sudden fear 
chilling her, her hands clasped over her 
breast. 

“Someone is shooting,” she said aloud. 

She waited long for a repetition of the 
278 


THE SHOT IN THE DARK 


sounds. But she did not hear them again. 
Tremblingly she returned to the cabin and 
resumed her chair at the table, fighting 
against a growing presentiment that some- 
thing had gone wrong with Ben. But she 
could not have told from what direction the 
sounds had come, and so it would have been 
folly for her to ride out to investigate. And 
so for an hour she sat at the table, cringing 
away from the silence, starting at intervals, 
when her imagination tricked her into the 
belief that sound had begun. 

And then presently she became aware that 
there was sound. In the vast silence beyond 
the cabin door something had moved. She 
was on her feet instantly, her senses alert. 
Her fear had left her. Her face was pale, 
but her lips closed grimly as she went to the 
rack behind the door and took down a rifle 
that Ben always kept there. Then she 
turned the lamp low and cautiously stepped 
to the door. 

A pony whinnied, standing with ears erect 
at the edge of the porch. In a crumpled 
heap on the ground lay a man. She caught 
«79 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


her breath sharply, but in the next instant 
was out and bending over him. With a 
strength that seemed almost beyond her she 
dragged the limp form to the door where 
the light from the lamp shone upon it. 

“Ben!” she said sharply. “What has 
happened?” She shook him slightly, calling 
again to him. 

Aroused, he opened his eyes, recognized 
her, and raised himself painfully upon one 
elbow, smiling weakly. 

“It ain’t anything, sis,” he said. “Creased 
in the back of the head. Knocked me cold. 
Mebbe my shoulder too — I ain’t been able 
to lift my arm.” He smiled again — grimly, 
though wearily. “From the back too. The 
damned sneak!” 

Her eyes filled vengefully, and she leaned 
closer to him, her voice tense. “Who, Ben? 
Who did it?” 

“Ferguson,” he said sharply. And again, 
as his eyes closed: “The damned sneak.” 

She swayed dizzily and came very near 
dropping him to the porch floor. But no 
sound came from her, and presently when 
280 


THE SHOT IN THE DARK 


the dizziness had passed, she dragged him to 
the door, propped it open with a chair, and 
then dragged him on through the opening 
to the kitchen, and from there to one of the 
adjoining rooms. Then with pale face and 
determined lips she set about the work of 
taking care of Ben’s wounds. The spot on 
the back of the head, she found, was a mere 
abrasion, as he had said. But his shoulder 
had been shattered, the bullet, she dis- 
covered, having passed clear through the 
fleshy part of the shoulder, after breaking 
one of the smaller bones. 

Getting her scissors she clipped away the 
hair from the back of his head and sponged 
the wound and bandaged it, convinced that 
of itself it was not dangerous. Then she un- 
dressed him, and by the use of plenty of 
clear, cold water, a sponge, and some 
bandages, stopped the flow of blood in his 
shoulder and placed him in a comfortable 
position. He had very little fever, but she 
moved rapidly around him, taking his 
temperature, administering sedatives when 
he showed signs of restlessness, hovering 
281 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


over him constantly until the dawn began to 
come. 

Soon after this he went off into a peaceful 
sleep, and, almost exhausted with her efforts 
and the excitement, she threw herself upon 
the floor beside his bed, sacriflcing her own 
comfort that she might be near to watch 
should he need her. It was late in the after- 
noon when Radford opened his eyes to look 
out through the door that connected his room 
with the kitchen and saw his sister busying 
herself with the dishes. His mind was clear 
and he suffered very little pain. For a long 
time he lay, quietly watching her, while his 
thoughts went back to the meeting on the 
trail with Ferguson. Why hadn’t he carried 
out his original intention of shooting the 
stray-man down from ambush? He had 
doubted Leviatt’s word and had hesitated, 
wishing to give Ferguson the benefit of the 
doubt, and had received his reward in the 
shape of a bullet in the back — after practi- 
cally making a peace pact with his intended 
victim. 

He presently became aware that his sister 


THE SHOT IN THE DARK 


was standing near him, and he looked up 
and smiled at her. Then in an instant she 
was kneeling beside him, admonishing him 
to quietness, smoothing his forehead, giving 
delighted little gasps over his improved con- 
dition. But in spite of her evident cheerful- 
ness there was a suggestion of trouble 
swimming deep in her eyes; he could not 
help but see that she was making a brave 
attempt to hide her bitter disappointment 
over the turn things had taken. Therefore 
he was not surprised when, after she had 
attended to all his wants, she sank on her 
knees beside him. 

“Ben,” she said, trying to keep a quiver 
out of her voice, “are you sure it was Fer- 
guson who shot you?” 

He patted her hand tenderly and 
sympathetically with his uninjured one. 
“I’m sorry for you, Mary,” he returned, 
“but there ain’t any doubt about it.” Then 
he told her of the warning he had received 
from Leviatt, and when he saw her lips curl 
at the mention of the Two Diamond range 
boss’s name he smiled. 

283 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“I thought the same thing that you are 
thinking, Mary,” he said. “And I didn’t 
want to shoot Ferguson. But as things 
have turned out I wouldn’t have been much 
wrong to have done it.” 

She raised her head from the coverlet. 
“Did you see him before he shot you?” she 
questioned eagerly. 

“Just a little before,” he returned. “I 
met him at a turn in the trail about half a 
mile from here. I made him get down off 
his horse and drop his guns. We had a talk, 
for I didn’t want to shoot him until I was 
sure, and he talked so clever that I thought 
he was telling the truth. But he wasn’t.” 

He told her about Ferguson’s concealed 
pistol; how they had stood face to face with 
death between them, concluding: “By that 
time I had decided not to shoot him. But 
he didn’t have the nerve to pull the trigger 
when he was looking at me. He waited 
until I’d got on my horse and was riding 
away. Then he sneaked up behind.” 

He saw her body shiver, and he caressed 
her hair slowly, telling her that he was sorry 
284 


THE SHOT IN THE DARK 


things had turned out so, and promising her 
that when he recovered he would bring the 
Two Diamond stray-man to a strict account- 
ing — providing the latter didn’t leave the 
country before. But he saw that his words 
had given her little comfort, for when an 
hour or so later he dropped off to sleep the 
last thing he saw was her seated at the table 
in the kitchen, her head bowed in her hands, 
crying softly. 

‘‘Poor little kid,” he said, as sleep dimmed 
his eyes; “it looks as though this would be 
the end of her story.” 


285 


CHAPTER XX 


LOYE AND A EIFLE 

F erguson did not visit Miss Rad- 
ford the next morning — he had seen 
Leviatt and Tucson depart from the 
ranchhouse, had observed the direction they 
took, and had followed them. For twenty 
miles he had kept them in sight, watching 
them with a stern patience that had brought 
its reward. 

They had ridden twenty miles straight 
down the river, when Ferguson, concealed 
behind a ridge, saw them suddenly disappear 
into a little basin. Then he rode around the 
ridge, circled the rim of hills that surrounded 
the basin, and dismounting from his pony, 
crept through a scrub oak thicket to a point 
where he could look directly down upon 
them. 


286 


LOVE AND A RIFLE 


He was surprised into a subdued whistle. 
Below him in the basin was an adobe hut. 
He had been through this section of the 
country several times but had never before 
stumbled upon the hut. This was not re- 
markable, for situated as it was, in this 
little basin, hidden from sight by a serried 
line of hills and ridges among which no cow- 
puncher thought to travel — nor cared to — , 
the cabin was as safe from prying eyes as it 
was possible for a human habitation to be. 

There was a small corral near the cabin, 
in which there were several steers, half a 
dozen cows, and perhaps twenty calves. As 
Ferguson’s eyes took in the latter detail, 
they glittered with triumph. Not even the 
wildest stretch of the imagination could pro- 
duce twenty calves from half a dozen cows. 

But Ferguson did not need this evidence 
to convince him that the men who occupied 
the cabin were rustlers. Honest men did 
not find it necessary to live in a basin in the 
hills where they were shut in from sight of 
the open country. Cattle thieves did not al- 
ways find it necessary to do so — unless they 
^87 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


were men like these, who had no herds of 
their own among which to conceal their ill- 
gotten beasts. He was convinced that these 
men were migratory thieves, who operated 
upon the herds nearest them, remained until 
they had accumulated a considerable number 
of cattle, and then drove the entire lot to 
some favored friend who was not averse to 
running the risk of detection if through that 
risk he came into possession of easily earned 
money. 

There were two of the men, beside Leviatt 
and Tucson — tall, rangy — looking their 
part. Ferguson watched them for half an 
hour, and then, convinced that he would 
gain nothing more by remaining there, he 
stealthily backed down the hillside to where 
his pony stood; mounted, and rode toward 
the river. 

Late in the afternoon he entered Bear 
Flat, urged his pony at a brisk pace across 
it, and just before sundown drew rein in 
front of the Radford cabin. He dismounted 
and stepped to the edge of the porch, a smile 
of anticipation on his lips. The noise of his 
288 


LOVE AND A RIFLE 


arrival brought Mary Radford to the door. 
She came out upon the porch, and he saw 
that her face was pale and her lips firmly 
set. Apparently something had gone amiss 
with her and he halted, looking at her ques- 
tioningly. 

“What’s up?” he asked. 

“You ought to know,” she returned 
quietly. 

“I ain’t good at guessin’ riddles,” he re- 
turned, grinning at her. 

“There is no riddle,” she answered, still 
quietly. She came forward until she stood 
within two paces of him, her eyes meeting 
his squarely. “When you left here last night 
did you meet Ben on the trail?” she con- 
tinued steadily. 

He started, reddening a little. “Why, 
yes,” he returned, wondering if Ben had 
told her what had been said at that meeting ; 
“was he tellin’ you about it?” 

“Yes,” she returned evenly, “he has been 
telling me about it. That should be suffi- 
cient for you. I am sorry that I ever met 
you. You should know why. If I were you 
289 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


I should not lose any time in getting away 
from here.” 

Her voice was listless, even flat, but there 
was a grim note in it that told that she was 
keeping her composure with difficulty. He 
laughed, thinking that since he had made 
the new agreement with the Two Diamond 
manager he had nothing to fear. ‘T reckon 
I ought to be scared,” he returned, “but I 
ain’t. An’ I don’t consider that I’m losin’ 
any time.” 

Her lips curved sarcastically. “You have 
said something like that before,” she told 
him, her eyes glittering scornfully. “You 
have a great deal of faith in your ability to 
fool people. But you have miscalculated 
this time. 

“I know why you have come to the Two 
Diamond. I know what made you come 
over here so much. Of course I am partly 
to blame. You have fooled me as you have 
fooled everyone.” She stood suddenly erect, 
her eyes flashing. “If you planned to kill 
my brother, why did you not have the man- 
hood to meet him face to face?” 




290 


LOVE AND A RIFLE 


Ferguson flushed. Would it help his case 
to deny that he had thought of fooling her, 
that he never had any intention of shooting 
Ben? He thought not. Leviatt had 
poisoned her mind against him. He smiled 
grimly. 

“Someone’s been talkin’,” he said quietly. 
“You’d be helpin’ to make this case clear if 
you’d tell who it was.” 

“Someone has talked,” she replied; “some- 
one who knows. Why didn’t you tell me 
that you came here to kill Ben? That you 
were hired by Stafford to do it?” 

“Why, I didn’t, ma’am,” he protested, his 
face paling. 

“You did!” She stamped one foot 
vehemently. 

Ferguson’s eyes drooped. “I came here 
to see if Ben was rustlin’ cattle, ma’am,” he 
confessed frankly. “But I wasn’t intendin’ 
to shoot him. Why, I’ve had lots of 
chances, an’ I didn’t do it. Ain’t that proof 
enough?” 

“No,” she returned, her voice thrilling 
with a sudden, bitter irony, ‘‘you didn’t shoot 
S91 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


him. That is, you didn’t shoot him while 
he was looking at you — ^when there was a 
chance that he might have given you as good 
as you sent. No, you didn’t shoot him then 
— you waited until his back was turned. You 
— you coward!” 

Ferguson’s lips whitened. “You’re talk- 
in’ extravagant, ma’am,” he said coldly. 
“Somethin’ is all mixed up. Has someone 
been shootin’ Ben?” 

She sneered, pinning him with a scornful, 
withering glance. “I expected that you 
would deny it,” she returned. “That would 
be following out your policy of deception.” 

He leaned forward, his eyes wide with 
surprise. If she had not been laboring un- 
der the excitement of the incident she might 
have seen that his surprise was genuine, but 
she was certain that it was mere craftiness — 
a craftiness that she had hitherto admired, 
but which now awakened a fierce anger in 
her heart. 

“When was he shot?” he questioned quiet- 

ly- 

“Last night,” she answered scornfully. 


LOVE AND A RIFLE 


“Of course that is a surprise to you too. An 
hour after you left he rode up to the cabin 
and fell from his horse at the edge of the 
porch. He had been shot twice — both times 
in the back,” She laughed — almost hysteri- 
cally. “Oh, you knew enough not to take 
chances with him in spite of your bragging 
— ^in spite of the reputation you have of be- 
ing a ‘two-gun’ man!” 

He winced under her words, his face 
whitening, his lips twitching, his hands 
clenched that he might not lose his com- 
posure. But in spite of the conflict that was 
going on within him at the moment he man- 
aged to keep his voice quiet and even. It 
was admirable acting, she thought, her eyes 
burning with passion — despicable, con- 
temptible acting. 

“I reckon I ain’t the snake you think I 
am, ma’am,” he said, looking steadily at her. 
“But I’m admittin’ that mebbe you’ve got 
cause to think so. When I left Ben last 
night I shook hands with him, after fixin’ 
up the difference we’d had. Why, ma’am,” 
he went on earnestly, “I’d just got through 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


tellin’ him about you an’ me figgerin’ to get 
hooked up. An’ do you think I’d shoot him 
after that? Why, if I’d been wantin’ to 
shoot him I reckon there was nothin’ to 
stop me while he was standin’ there. He’d 
never knowed what struck him. I’m tellin’ 
you that I didn’t know he was shot ; 
that ” 

She made a gesture of impatience. “I 
don’t think I care to hear any more,” she 
said. “I heard the shots here on the porch. 
I suppose you were so far away at that time 
that you couldn’t hear them?” 

He writhed again under the scorn in her 
voice. But he spoke again, earnestly. “I 
did hear some shootin’,” he said, “after I’d 
gone on a ways. But I reckoned it was 
Ben.” 

“What do you suppose he would be shoot- 
ing at at that time of the night?” she de- 
manded. 

“Why, I don’t remember that I was doin’ 
a heap of wonderin’ at that time about it,” 
he returned hesitatingly. “Mebbe I thought 
he was shootin’ at a sage-hen, or a prairie- 


LOVE AND A RIFLE 


dog — or somethin’. I’ve often took a shot at 
somethin’ like that — when I’ve been alone 
that way.” He took a step toward her, his 
whole lithe body alive and tingling with 
earnestness. “Why, ma’am, there’s a big 
mistake somewheres. If I could talk to Ben 
I’m sure I could explain ” 

She drew her skirts close and stepped 
back toward the door. “There is nothing to 
explain — now,” she said coldly. “Ben is 
doing nicely, and when he has fully re- 
covered you will have a chance to explain to 
him — if you are not afraid.” 

“Afraid?” he laughed grimly. “I expect, 
ma’am, that things look pretty bad for me. 
They always do when someone’s tryin’ to 
make ’em. I reckon there ain’t any use of 
tryin’ to straighten it out now — you won’t 
listen. But I’m tellin’ you this: When 
everything comes out you’ll see that I didn’t 
shoot your brother.” 

“Of course not,” sneered the girl. “You 
did not shoot him. Stafford did not hire 
you to do it. You didn’t come here, pre- 
tending that you had been bitten by a 
^95 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


rattler, so that you might have a chance to 
worm yourself into my brother’s favor — 
and then shoot him. You haven’t been 
hanging around Bear Flat all summer, pre- 
tending to look for stray Two Diamond 
cattle. You haven’t been trying to make a 

fool of me ” Her voice trembled and 

her lips quivered suspiciously. 

“Well, now,” said Ferguson, deeply 
moved; “I’m awful sorry you’re lookin’ at 
things like you are. But I wasn’t thinkin’ 
to try an’ make a fool of you. Things that 
I said to you I meant. I wouldn’t say 
things to a girl that I said to you if ” 

She had suddenly stepped into the cabin 
and as suddenly reappeared holding the rifle 
that was kept always behind the door. She 
stood rigid on the porch, her eyes blazing 
through the moisture in them. 

“You go now!” she commanded hotly; 
“I’ve heard enough of your lies! Get away 
from this cabin! If I ever see you around 
here again I won’t wait for Ben to shoot 
you!” 

Ferguson hesitated, a deep red mounting 
^96 


LOVE AND A RIFLE 


over the scarf at his throat. Then his voice 
rose, tingling with regret. “There ain’t any 
use of me sayin’ anything now, ma’am,” he 
said. “You wouldn’t listen. I’m goin’ 
away, of course, because you want me to. 
You didn’t need to get that gun if you 
wanted to hurt me — what you’ve said would 
have been enough.” He bowed to her, not 
even looking at the rifle. “I’m goin’ now,” 
he concluded. “But I’m cornin’ back. You’ll 
know then whether I’m the sneak you’ve said 
I was.” 

He bowed again over the pony’s mane and 
urged the animal around the corner of the 
cabin, striking the trail that led through the 
flat toward the Two Diamond ranchhouse. 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE PROMISE 

F erguson heard loud talking and 
laughter in the bunkhouse when he 
passed there an hour after his de- 
parture from the Radford cabin in Bear 
Flat. It was near sundown and the boys 
were eating supper. Ferguson smiled grim- 
ly as he rode his pony to the corral gate, dis- 
mounted, pulled off the bridle and saddle, 
and turned the animal into the corral. The 
presence of the boys at the bunkhouse meant 
that the wagon outfit had come in — ^meant 
that Leviatt would have to come in — if he 
had not already done so. 

The stray-man’s movements were very de- 
liberate ; there was an absence of superfluous 
energy that told of intensity of thought and 
^98 


THE PROMISE 


singleness of purpose. He shouldered the 
saddle with a single movement, walked with 
it to the lean-to, threw it upon its accus- 
tomed peg, hung the bridle from the pom- 
mel, and then turned and for a brief time 
listened to the talk and laughter that issued 
from the open door and windows of the 
bunkhouse. With a sweep of his hands he 
drew his two guns from their holsters, rolled 
the cylinders and examined them minutely. 
Then he replaced the guns, hitched at his 
cartridge belt, and stepped out of the door 
of the lean-to. 

In spite of his promise to Mary Radford 
to the effect that he would return to prove 
to her that he was not the man who had at- 
tempted to kill her brother he had no hope 
of discovering the guilty man. His sus- 
picions, of course, centered upon Leviatt, 
but he knew that under the circumstances 
Mary Radford would have to be given con- 
vincing proof. The attempted murder of 
her brother, following the disclosure that he 
had been hired by Stafford to do the deed, 
must have seemed to her sufficient evidence 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


of his guilt. He did not blame her for feel- 
ing bitter toward him ; she had done the only 
thing natural under the circumstances. He 
had been very close to the garden of happi- 
ness — ^just close enough to scent its promise 
of fulfilled joy, when the gates had been 
violently closed in his face, to leave him 
standing without, contemplating the ragged 
path over which he must return to the old 
life. 

He knew that Leviatt had been the instru- 
ment that had caused the gates to close; he 
knew that it had been he who had dropped 
the word that had caused the finger of ac- 
cusation to point to him. “Stafford didn’t 
hire you to do it,” Mary Radford had said, 
ironically. The words rang in his ears still. 
Who had told her that Stafford had hired 
him to shoot Radford? Surely not Stafford. 
He himself had not hinted at the reason of 
his presence at the Two Diamond. And 
there was only one other man who knew. 
That man was Leviatt. As he stood beside 
the door of the lean-to the rage in his heart 
against the range boss grew more bitter, and 
300 


THE PROMISE 


the lines around his mouth straightened 
more grimly. 

A few minutes later he stalked into the 
bunkhouse, among the men who, after finish- 
ing their meal, were lounging about, their 
small talk filling the room. The talk died 
away as he entered, the men adroitly gave 
him room, for there was something in the ex- 
pression of his eyes, in the steely, boring 
glances that he cast about him, that told 
these men, inured to danger though they 
were, that the stray-man was in no gentle 
mood. He dropped a short word to the one 
among them that he knew best, at which they 
all straightened, for through the word they 
knew that he was looking for Leviatt. 

But they knew nothing of Leviatt be- 
yond the fact that he and Tucson had not 
accompanied the wagon to the home ranch. 
They inferred that the range boss and 
Tucson had gone about some business con- 
nected with the cattle. Therefore Ferguson 
did not stop long in the bunkhouse. With- 
out a word he was gone, striding rapidly to- 
ward the ranchhouse. They looked after 
301 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


him, saying nothing, but aware that his quest 
for Leviatt was not without significance. 

Five minutes later he was in Stafford’s 
office. The latter had been worrying about 
him. When Ferguson entered the man- 
ager’s manner was a trifle anxious. 

“You seen anything of Radford yet?” he 
inquired. 

“I ain’t got anything on Radford,” was 
the short reply. 

His tone angered the manager. ‘T ain’t 
askin’ if you’ve got anything on him,” he 
returned. “But we missed more cattle 
yesterday, an’ it looks mighty suspicious. 
Since we had that talk about Radford, when 
you told me it wasn’t him doin’ the rustlin’ 
I’ve changed my mind a heap. I’m thinkin’ 
he rustled them cattle last night.” 

Ferguson looked quizzically at him. “How 
many cattle you missin’?” he questioned. 

Stafford banged a fist heavily down upon 
his desk top. “We’re twenty calves short 
on the tally,” he declared, “an’ half a dozen 
cows. We ain’t got to the steers yet, but 
I’m expectin’ to find them short too.” 

302 


THE PROMISE 


Ferguson drew a deep breath. The num- 
ber of cattle missing tallied exactly with the 
number he had seen in the basin down the 
river. A glint of triumph lighted his eyes, 
but he looked down upon Stafford, drawl- 
ing: 

“You been doin’ the tallyin’?” 

“Yes.” 

Ferguson was now smiling grimly. 
“Where’s your range boss?” he questioned. 

“The boys say he rode over to the river 
lookin’ for strays. Sent word that he’d be 
in to-morrow. But I don’t see what he’s 
got to do ” 

“No,” returned Ferguson, “of course. 
You say them cattle was rustled last night?” 

“Yes.” Stafford banged his fist down 
with a positiveness that left no doubt of his 
knowledge. 

“Well, now,” observed Ferguson, “an’ so 
you’re certain Radford rustled them.” He 
smiled again saturninely. 

“I ain’t sayin’ for certain,” returned Staf- 
ford, puzzled by Ferguson’s manner. “What 
I’m gettin’ at is that there ain’t no one 
303 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


around here that’d rustle them except Rad- 
ford.” 

“There ain’t no other nester around here 
that you know of?” questioned Ferguson. 

“No. Radford’s the only one.” 

Ferguson lingered a moment. Then he 
walked slowly to the door. “I reckon that’s 
all,” he said. “To-morrow I’m goin’ to 
show you your rustler.” 

He had stepped out of the door and was 
gone into the gathering dusk before Stafford 
could ask the question that was on the end 
of his tongue. 


304 . 


CHAPTER XXII 


KEEPING A PROMISE 

F ERGUSON’S dreams had been 
troubled. Long before dawn he was 
awake and outside the bunkhouse, 
splashing water over his face from the tin 
wash basin that stood on the bench just out- 
side the door. Before breakfast he had 
saddled and bridled Mustard, and directly 
after the meal he was in the saddle, riding 
slowly toward the river. 

Before very long he was riding through 
Bear Flat, and after a time he came to the 
hill where only two short days before he had 
reveled in the supreme happiness that had 
followed months of hope and doubt. It did 
not seem as though it had been only two 
days. It seemed that time was playing him 
305 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


a trick. Yet he knew that to-day was like 
yesterday — each day like its predecessor — 
that if the hours dragged it was because in 
the bitterness of his soul he realized that to- 
day could not be — for him — like the day 
before yesterday; and that succeeding days 
gave no promise of restoring to him the 
happiness that he had lost. 

He saw the sun rising above the rim of 
hills that surrounded the flat ; he climbed to 
the rock upon which he had sat — with her — 
watching the shadows retreat to the moun- 
tains, watching the sun stream down into the 
clearing and upon the Radford cabin. But 
there was no longer beauty in the picture — 
for him. Hereafter he would return to that 
life that he had led of old; the old hard life 
that he had known before his brief romance 
had given him a fleeting glimpse of what 
might have been. 

Many times, when his hopes had been 
high, he had felt a chilling fear that he would 
never be able to reach the pinnacle of prom- 
ise; that in the end fate would place before 
him a barrier — ^the barrier in the shape of 
306 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


his contract with Stafford, that he had re- 
gretted many times. 

Mary Radford would never believe his 
protest that he had not been hired to kill her 
brother. Fate, in the shape of Leviatt, had 
forestalled him there. Many times, when 
she had questioned him regarding the hero 
in her story, he had been on the point of tak- 
ing her into his confidence as to the reason of 
his presence at the Two Diamond, but he 
had always put it off, hoping that things 
would be righted in the end and that he 
would be able to prove to her the honesty of 
his intentions. 

But now that time was past. Whatever 
happened now she would believe him the 
creature that she despised — that all men de- 
spised ; the man who strikes in the dark. 

This, then, was to be the end. He could 
not say that he had been entirely blameless. 
He should have told her. But it was not the 
end that he was now contemplating. There 
could be no end until there had been an ac- 
counting between him and Leviatt. Per- 
haps the men who had shot Ben Radford in 
307 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


the back would never be known. He had his 
suspicions, but they availed nothing. In the 
light of present circumstances Miss Radford 
would never hold him guiltless. 

Until near noon he sat on the rock on the 
crest of the hill, the lines of his face growing 
more grim, his anger slowly giving way to 
the satisfying calmness that comes when the 
mind has reached a conclusion. There would 
be a final scene with Leviatt, and then 

He rose from the rock, made his way de- 
liberately down the hillside, mounted his 
pony, and struck the trail leading to the 
Two Diamond ranchhouse. 

About noon Leviatt and Tucson rode in to 
the Two Diamond corral gate, dismounted 
from their ponies, and proceeded to the 
bunkhouse for dinner. The men of the out- 
fit were already at the table, and after wash- 
ing their faces from the tin wash basin on 
the bench outside the door, Leviatt and 
Tucson entered the bunkhouse and took 
their places. Greetings were given and re- 
turned through the medium of short nods — • 
SOS 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


with several of the men even this was 
omitted. Leviatt was not a popular range 
boss, and there were some of the men who 
had whispered their suspicions that the death 
of Rope Jones had not been brought about 
in the regular way. Many of them remem- 
bered the incident that had occurred between 
Rope, the range boss, Tucson, and the new 
stray-man, and though opinions differed, 
there were some who held that the death of 
Rope might have resulted from the ill-feel- 
ing engendered by the incident. But in the 
absence of proof there was nothing to be 
done. So those men who held suspicions 
wisely refrained from talking in public. 

Before the meal was finished the black- 
smith poked his head in through the open 
doorway, calling: “OF Man wants to see 
Leviatt up in the office !” 

The blacksmith’s head was withdrawn be- 
fore Leviatt, who had heard the voice but 
had not seen the speaker, could raise his voice 
in reply. He did not hasten, however, and 
remained at the table with Tucson for five 
minutes after the other men had left. Then, 
309 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


with a final word to Tucson, he rose and 
strode carelessly to the door of Stafford’s 
office. The latter had been waiting with 
some impatience, and at the appearance of 
the range boss he shoved his chair back from 
his desk and arose. 

“Just come in?” he questioned. 

“Just come in,” repeated Leviatt drawl- 
ing. “Plum starved. Had to eat before I 
came down here.” 

He entered and dropped lazily into a 
chair near the desk, stretching his legs com- 
fortably. He had observed in Stafford’s 
manner certain signs of a subdued excite- ^ 

ment, and while he affected not to notice 
this, there was a glint of feline humor in his 
eyes. 

“Somebody said you wanted me,” he said. 
“Anything doin’ ?” ; 

Stafford had held in as long as he could. j 

Now he exploded. | 

“What in hell do you suppose I sent for j 
you for?” he demanded, as, walking to and 
fro in the room, he paused and glared down i 
at the range boss. “Where you been? We’re J 
310 i 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


twenty calves an’ a dozen cows short on the 
tally!” 

Leviatt looked up, his eyes suddenly flash- 
ing. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “They’re 
hittin’ them pretty heavy lately. When was 
they missed?” 

Stafford spluttered impotently. “Night 
before last,” he flared. “An’ not a damned 
sign of where they went!” 

Leviatt grinned coldly. “Them rustlers 
is gettin’ to be pretty slick, ain’t they?” he 
drawled. 

Stafford’s face swelled with a rage that 
threatened to bring on apoplexy. He 
brought a tense fist heavily down upon his 
desk top. 

“Slick!” he sneered. “I don’t reckon 
they’re any slick. It’s that I’ve got a no 
good outfit. There ain’t a man in the bunch 
could see a rustler if he’d hobbled a cow and 
was runnin’ her calf off before their eyes!” 
He hesitated to gain breath before continu- 
ing. “What have I got an outfit for? What 
have I got a range boss for? What have I 
got !” 


311 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Leviatt grinned wickedly and Stafford 
hesitated, his hand upraised. 

“Your stray-man doin’ anything these 
days?” questioned Leviatt significantly. 
“Because if he is,” resumed Leviatt, before 
the manager could reply, “he ought to man- 
age to be around where them thieves are 
workin’.” 

Stafford stiffened. He had developed a 
liking for the stray-man and he caught a 
note of venom in Leviatt’s voice. 

“I reckon the stray-man knows what he’s 
doin’,” he replied. He returned to his 
chair beside the desk and sat in it, facing 
Leviatt, and speaking with heavy sarcasm. 
“The stray-man’s the only one of the whole 
bunch that’s doin’ anything,” he said. 

“Sure,” sneered Leviatt; “he’s gettin’ paid 
for sparkin’ Mary Radford.” 

“Mebbe he is,” returned Stafford. “I 
don’t know as I’d blame him any for that. 
But he’s been doin’ somethin’ else now an’ 
then, too.” 

“Findin’ the man that’s been rustlin’ your 
stock, for instance,” mocked Leviatt. 

312 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


Stafford leaned back in his chair, frown- 
ing. 

“Look here, Leviatt,” he said steadily. 
“I might have spoke a little strong to you 
about them missin’ cattle. But I reckon 
you’re partly to blame. If you’d been 
minded to help Ferguson a little, instead of 
actin’ like a fool because you’ve thought 
he’s took a shine to Mary Radford, 
we might have been further along with them 
rustlers. As it is, Ferguson’s been playin’ a 
lone hand. But he claims to have been doin’ 
somethin’. He ain’t been in the habit of 
blowin’ his own horn, an’ I reckon we can 
rely on what he says. I’m wantin’ you to 
keep the boys together this afternoon, for 
we might need them to help Ferguson out. 
He’s promised to ride in to-day an’ show me 
the man who’s been rustlin’ my cattle.” 

Leviatt’s lips slowly straightened. He 
sat more erect, and when he spoke the 
mockery had entirely gone from his voice 
and from his manner. 

“He’s goin’ to do what?” he questioned 
coldly. 

613 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“Show me the man who’s been rustlin’ my 
cattle,” repeated Stafford. 

For a brief space neither man spoke — ^nor 
moved. Stafford’s face wore the smile of a 
man who has just communicated some un- 
expected and astonishing news and was 
watching its effect with suppressed enjoy- 
ment. He knew that Leviatt felt bitter to- 
ward the stray-man and that the news that 
the latter might succeed in doing the thing 
that he had set out to do would not be re- 
ceived with any degree of pleasure by the 
range boss. 

But watching closely, Stafford was forced 
to admit that Leviatt did not feel so strong- 
ly, or was cleverly repressing his emotions. 
There was no sign on the range boss’s face 
that he had been hurt by the news. His face 
had grown slightly paler and there was a 
hard glitter in his narrowed eyes. But his 
voice was steady. 

“Well, now,” he said, “that ought to tickle 
you a heap.” 

“I won’t be none disappointed,” returned 
Stafford. 


SU 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


Leviatt looked sharply at him and crossed 
his arms over his chest. 

“When was you talkin’ to him?” he ques- 
tioned. 

“Yesterday.” 

Leviatt’s lips moved slightly. “An’ when 
did you say them cattle was rustled?” he 
asked. 

“Night before last,” returned Stafford. 

Leviatt was silent for a brief time. Then 
he unfolded his arms and stood erect, his 
eyes boring into Stafford’s. 

“When you expectin’ Ferguson?” he 
questioned. 

“He didn’t say just when he was cornin’ 
in,” returned Stafford. “But I reckon we 
might expect him any time.” 

Leviatt strode to the door. Looking back 
over his shoulder, he smiled evilly. “I’m 
much obliged to you for tollin’ me,” he said. 
“We’ll be ready for him.” 

A little over an hour after his departure 
from the hill, Ferguson rode up to the Two 
Diamond corral gate and dismounted. 

315 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Grouped around the door of the bunkhouse 
were several of the Two Diamond men; in 
a strip of shade from the blacksmith shop 
were others. Jocular words were hurled at 
him by some of the men as he drew the 
saddle from Mustard, for the stray-man’s 
quietness and invariable thoughtfulness had 
won him a place in the affections of many of 
the men, and their jocular greetings were 
evidence of this. 

He nodded shortly to them, but did not 
answer. And instead of lugging his saddle 
to its accustomed peg in the lean-to, he 
threw it over the corral fence and left it. 
Then, without another look toward the men, 
he turned and strode toward the manager’s 
office. 

The latter was seated at his desk and 
looked up at the stray-man’s entrance. He 
opened his lips to speak, but closed them 
again, surprised at the stray-man’s appear- 
ance. 

During the months that Ferguson had 
worked at the Two Diamond, Stafford had 
not seen him as he looked at this moment. 

316 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


Never, during the many times the manager 
had seen him, had he been able to guess any- 
thing of the stray-man’s emotions by looking 
at his face. Now, however, there had come a 
change. In the set, tightly drawn lips were 
the tell-tale signs of an utterable resolve. In 
the narrowed, steady eyes was a light that 
chilled Stafford like a cold breeze in the 
heat of a summer’s day. In the man’s whole 
body was something that shocked the man- 
ager into silence. 

He came into the room, standing near the 
door, his set lips moving a very little. “You 
heard anything from Leviatt yet?” he ques- 
tioned. 

“Why, yes,” returned Stafford, hesitat- 
ingly; “he was here, talkin’ to me. Ain’t 
been gone more’n half an hour. I reckon 
he’s somewhere around now.” 

“You talkin’ to him, you say?” said the 
stray-man slowly. He smiled mirthlessly. 
“I reckon you told him about them missin’ 
calves?” 

“I sure did!” returned Stafford with much 
vehemence. He laughed harshly. “I told him 
317 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


more,” he said; “I told him you was goin’ 
to show me the man who’d rustled them.” 

Ferguson’s lips wreathed into a grim 
smile. “So you told him?” he said. “I was 
expectin’ you’d do that, if he got in before 
me. That’s why I stopped in here. That 
was somethin’ which I was wantin’ him to 
know. I don’t want it to be said that I 
didn’t give him a chance.” 

Stafford rose from his chair, taking a step 
toward the stray-man. 

“Why, what ?” he began. But a look 

at the stray-man’s face silenced him. 

“I’ve come over here to-day to show you 
that rustler I told you about yesterday. I’m 
goin’ to look for him now. If he ain’t sloped 
I reckon you’ll see him pretty soon.” 

Leviatt stepped down from the door of 
the manager’s office and strode slowly to- 
ward the bunkhouse. On the way he passed 
several of the men, but he paid no attention 
to them, his face wearing an evil expression, 
his eyes glittering venomously. 

When he reached the bunkhouse he passed 
318 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


several more of the men without a word, go- 
ing directly to a corner of the room where 
sat Tucson and conversing earnestly with 
his friend. A little later both he and Tucson 
rose and passed out of the bunkhouse, walk- 
ing toward the blacksmith shop. 

After a little they appeared, again join- 
ing the group outside the bunkhouse. It 
was while Leviatt and Tucson were in the 
blacksmith shop that Ferguson had come in. 
When they came out again the stray-man 
had disappeared into the manager’s office. 

Since the day when in the manager’s 
office, Ferguson had walked across the floor 
to return to Leviatt the leather tobacco 
pouch that the latter had dropped in the de- 
pression on the ridge above the gully where 
the stray-man had discovered the dead Two 
Diamond cow and her calf, Leviatt had 
known that the stray-man suspected him of 
being leagued with the rustlers. But this 
knowledge had not disturbed him. He felt 
secure because of his position. Even the 
stray-man would have to have absolute, 
damning evidence before he could hope to 
319 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


be successful in proving a range boss guilty 
of cattle stealing, 

Leviatt had been more concerned over the 
stray-man’s apparent success in courting 
Mary Radford. His hatred — beginning 
with the shooting match in Dry Bottom — 
had been intensified by the discovery of Fer- 
guson on the Radford porch in Bear Flat; 
by the incident at the bunkhouse, when Rope 
Jones had prevented Tucson from shooting 
the stray-man from behind, and by the dis- 
covery that the latter suspected him of com- 
plicity with the cattle thieves. But it had 
reached its highest point when Mary Rad- 
ford spurned his love. After that he had 
realized that just so long as the stray-man 
lived and remained at the Two Diamond 
there would be no peace or security for him 
there. 

Yet he had no thought of settling his dif- 
ferences with Ferguson as man to man. 
Twice had he been given startling proof of 
the stray-man’s quickness with the six- 
shooter, and each time his own slowness had 
been crushingly impressed on his mind. He 
320 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


was not fool enough to think that he could 
beat the stray-man at that game. 

But there were other ways. Rope Jones 
had discovered that — when it had been too 
late to profit. Rope had ridden into a care- 
fully laid trap and, in spite of his reputation 
for quickness in drawing his weapon, had 
found that the old game of getting a man 
between two fires had proven efficacious. 

And now Leviatt and Tucson were to at- 
tempt the scheme again. Since his inter- 
view with Stafford, Leviatt had become con- 
vinced that the time for action had come. 
Ferguson had left word with the manager 
that he was to show the latter the rustler, 
and by that token Leviatt knew that the 
stray-man had gathered evidence against 
him and was prepared to show him to the 
manager in his true light. He, in turn, had 
left a message with the manager for Fer- 
guson. “Well be ready for him,” he had 
said. 

He did not know whether Ferguson had 
received this message. It had been a subtle 
thought; the words had been merely involun- 
321 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


tary. By “We” the manager had thought 
that he had meant the entire outfit was to be 
held ready to apprehend the rustler. Leviatt 
had meant only himself and Tucson. 

And they were ready. Down in the black- 
smith shop, while Ferguson had ridden in 
and stepped into the manager’s office, had 
Leviatt and Tucson made their plan. When 
they had joined the group in front of the 
bunkhouse and had placed themselves in 
positions where thirty or forty feet of space 
yawned between them, they had been mak- 
ing the first preparatory movement. The 
next would come when Ferguson appeared, 
to carry out his intention of showing Staf- 
ford the rustler. 

To none of the men of the outfit did 
Leviatt or Tucson reveal anything of the 
nervousness that affected them. They 
listened to the rough jest, they laughed when 
the others laughed, they dropped an occa- 
sional word of encouragement. They even 
laughed at jokes in which there was no 
visible point. 

But they did not move from their places, 
322 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


nor did they neglect to keep a sharp, alert 
eye out for the stray-man’s appearance. 
And when they saw him come out of the 
door of the office they neglected to joke or 
laugh, but stood silent, with the thirty or 
forty feet of space between them, their faces 
paling a little, their hearts laboring a little 
harder. 

When Ferguson stepped out of the door 
of the office, Stafford followed. The stray- 
man had said enough to arouse the man- 
ager’s suspicions, and there was something 
about the stray-man’s movements which 
gave the impression that he contemplated 
something more than merely pointing out 
the thief. If warning of impending tragedy 
had ever shone in a man’s eyes, Stafford was 
certain that it had shone in the stray-man’s 
during the brief time that he had been in the 
office and when he had stepped down from 
the door. 

Stafford had received no invitation to fol- 
low the stray-man, but impelled by the 
threat in the latter’s eyes and by the hint of 
cold resolution that gave promise of immi- 
323 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


nent tragedy, he stepped down also, trailing 
the stray-man at a distance of twenty yards. 

Ferguson did not hesitate once in his 
progress toward the bunkhouse, except to 
cast a rapid, searching glance toward a 
group of two or three men who lounged in 
the shade of the eaves of the building. Pass- 
ing the blacksmith shop he continued toward 
the bunkhouse, walking with a steady stride, 
looking neither to the right or left. 

Other men in the group, besides Leviatt 
and Tucson, had seen the stray-man com- 
ing, and as he came nearer, the talk died 
and a sudden silence fell. Ferguson came 
to a point within ten feet of the group of 
men, who were ranged along the wall of the 
bunkhouse. Stafford had come up rapidly, 
and he now stood near a corner of the bunk- 
house in an attitude of intense attention. 

He was in a position where he could see 
the stray-man’s face, and he marveled at the 
sudden change that had come into it. The 
tragedy had gone, and though the hard lines 
were still around his mouth, the corners 
twitched a little, as though moved by a cold, 
324 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


feline humor. There was a hint of mockery 
in his eyes — a chilling mockery, much like 
that which the manager had seen in them 
months before when in Dry Bottom the 
stray-man had told Leviatt that he thought 
he was a “plum man.” 

But now Stafford stood breathless as he 
heard the stray-man’s voice, directed at 
Leviatt. “I reckon you think you’ve been 
some busy lately,” he drawled. 

Meaningless words, as they appear here; 
meaningless to the group of men and to the 
Two Diamond manager; yet to Leviatt 
they were burdened with a dire significance. 
They told him that the stray-man was aware 
of his duplicity ; they meant perhaps that the 
stray-man knew of his dealings with the 
cattle thieves whom he had visited yesterday 
in the hills near the river. Whatever Leviatt 
thought, there was significance enough in the 
words to bring a sneering smile to his face. 

“Meanin’?” he questioned, his eyes glit- 
tering evilly. 

Ferguson smiled, his eyes unwavering and 
narrowing a very little as they met those of 
325 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 

III I I I \ 

his questioner. Deliberately, as though the 
occasion were one of unquestioned peace, 
he drew out some tobacco and several strips 
of rice paper. Selecting one of the strips of 
paper, he returned the others to a pocket 
and proceeded to roll a cigarette. His 
movements were very deliberate. Stafford 
watched him, fascinated by his coolness. In 
the tense silence no sound was heard except 
a subdued rattle of pans in the bunkhouse 
— telling that the cook and his assistant were 
at work. 

The cigarette was made finally, and then 
the stray-man lighted it and looked again at 
Leviatt, ignoring his question, asking an- 
other himself. “You workin’ down the creek 
yesterday?” he said. 

“Up!” snapped Leviatt. The question 
had caught him off his guard or he would 
have evaded it. He had told the lie out of 
pure perverseness. 

Ferguson took a long pull at his cigarette. 
“Well, now,” he returned, “that’s mighty 
peculiar. I’d have swore that I seen you 
an’ Tucson ridin’ down the river yesterday. 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


Thought I saw you in a basin in the hills, 
talkin’ to some men that I’d never seen be- 
fore. I reckon I was mistaken, but I’d have 
swore that I’d seen you.” 

Leviatt’s face was colorless. Standing 
with his profile to Tucson, he closed one eye 
furtively. This had been a signal that had 
previously been agreed upon. Tucson 
caught it and turned slightly, letting one 
hand fall to his right hip, immediately above 
the butt of his pistol. 

“Hell!” sneered Leviatt, “you’re seein’ a 
heap of things since you’ve been runnin’ with 
Mary Radford!” 

Ferguson laughed mockingly. “Mebbe 
I have,” he returned. “Ridin’ with her sure 
makes a man open his eyes considerable.” 

Now he ignored Leviatt, speaking to Staf- 
ford. “When I was in here one day, talkin’ to 
you,” he said quietly, “you told me about 
you an’ Leviatt goin’ to Dry Bottom to hire 
a gunfighter. I reckon you told that right?” 

“I sure did,” returned Stafford. 

Ferguson took another pull at his 
cigarette — blowing the smoke slowly sky- 
327 


THE TWO‘GUN MAN 


ward. And he drawled again, so that there 
was a distinct space between the words. 

“I reckon you didn’t go around advertisin’ 
that?” he asked. 

Stafford shook his head negatively. 
“There ain’t anyone around here knowed 
anything about that but me an’ you an’ 
Leviatt,” he returned. 

Ferguson grinned coldly. “An’ yet it’s 
got out,” he stated quietly. “I reckon if no 
one but us three knowed about it, one of us 
has been gassin’. I wouldn’t think that 
you’d done any gassin’,” he added, speaking 
to Stafford. 

The latter slowly shook his head. 

Ferguson continued, his eyes cold and 
alert. “An’ I reckon that I ain’t shot off 
about it — unless I’ve been dreamin’. Ac- 
cordin’ to that it must have been Leviatt 
who told Mary Radford that I’d been hired 
to kill her brother.” 

Leviatt sneered. “Suppose I did?” he 
returned, showing his teeth in a savage snarl. 
“What are you goin’ to do about it?” 

“Nothin’ now,” drawled Ferguson. “I’m 
328 


KEEPING A PROMISE 


glad to hear that you ain’t denyin’ it.” He 
spoke to Stafford, without removing his gaze 
from the range boss. 

“Yesterday,” he stated calmly, “I was 
ridin’ down the river. I found a basin 
among the hills. There was a cabin down 
there. Four men was talkin’ in front of it. 
There was twenty calves an’ a dozen cows 
in a corral. Two of the men was ” 

Leviatt’s right hand dropped suddenly to 
his holster. His pistol was half out. Tuc- 
son’s hand was also wrapped around the butt 
of his pistol. But before the muzzle of either 
man’s gun had cleared its holster, there was 
a slight movement at the stray-man’s sides 
and his two guns glinted in the white sun- 
light. There followed two reports, so rapid- 
ly that they blended. Smoke curled from the 
muzzles of the stray-man’s pistols. 

Tucson sighed, placed both hands to his 
chest, and pitched forward headlong, 
stretching his length in the sand. For an in- 
stand Leviatt stood rigid, his left arm swing- 
ing helplessly by his side, broken by the 
stray-man’s bullet, an expression of surprise 
329 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


and fear in his eyes. Then with a sudden, 
savage motion he dragged again at his gun. 

One of the stray-man’s guns crashed 
again, sharply. Leviatt’s weapon went off, 
its bullet throwing up sand in front of Fer- 
guson. Leviatt’s eyes closed, his knees 
doubled under him, and he pitched forward 
at Ferguson’s feet. He was face down, his 
right arm outstretched, the pistol still in his 
hand, A thin, blue wreath of smoke rose 
lazily from its muzzle. 

Ferguson bent over him, his weapons still 
in his hands. Leviatt’s legs stretched slow- 
ly and then stiffened. In the strained silence 
that had followed the shooting Ferguson 
stood, looking gloomily down upon the quiet 
form of his fallen adversary. 

‘T reckon you won’t lie no more about 
me,” he said dully. 

Without a glance in the direction of the 
group of silent men, he sheathed his 
weapons and strode toward the ranchhouse, 


680 


CHAPTER XXIII 


AT THE EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD 

F erguson strode into the man- 
ager’s office and dropped heavily in- 
to a chair beside the desk. He was 
directly in front of the open door and look- 
ing up he could see the men down at the 
bunkhouse congregated around the bodies of 
Leviatt and Tucson. 

The end that he had been expecting for 
the past two days had come — ^had come as 
he Imew it must come. He had not been 
trapped as they had trapped Rope Jones. 
When he had stood before Leviatt in front 
of the bunkhouse, he had noted the positions 
of the two men; had seen that they had ex- 
pected him to walk squarely into the net that 
they had prepared for him. His lips curled 
331 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


a little even now over the thought that the 
two men had held him so cheaply. Well, 
they had learned differently, when too late. 
It was the end of things for them, and for 
him the end of his hopes. When he had 
drawn his guns he had thought of merely 
wounding Leviatt, intending to allow the 
men of the outfit to apply to him the penalty 
that all convicted cattle thieves must suffer. 
But before that he had hoped to induce 
Leviatt to throw some light upon the at- 
tempted murder of Ben Radford. 

However, Leviatt had spoiled all that 
when he had attempted to draw his weapon 
after he was wounded. He had given Fer- 
guson no alternative. He had been forced 
to kill the only man who, he was convinced, 
could have given him any information about 
the shooting of Radford, and now, in spite 
of anything that he might say to the con- 
trary, Mary Radford, and even Ben himself, 
would always believe him guilty. He could 
not stay at Two Diamond now. He must 
get out of the country, back to the old life 
at the Lazy J, where among his friends he 


EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD 


might finally forget. But he doubted much. 
Did men ever forget women they had loved? 
Some perhaps did, but he was certain that 
nothing — not even time — could dim the pic- 
ture that was now in his mind: the hill in 
the flat, the girl sitting upon the rock beside 
him, her eyes illuminated with a soft, tender 
light; her breeze-blown hair — which he had 
kissed; which the Sun-Gods had kissed as, 
coming down from the mountains, they had 
bathed the hill with the golden light of the 
evening. He had thought then that nothing 
could prevent him from enjoying the happi- 
ness which that afternoon seemed to have 
promised. He had watched the sun sinking 
behind the mountains, secure in the thought 
that the morrow would bring him added 
happiness. But now there could be no to- 
morrow — for him. 

Fifteen minutes later Stafford entered the 
office to And his stray-man still seated in the 
chair, his head bowed in his hands. He did 
not look up as the manager entered, and the 
latter stepped over to him and laid a friend- 
ly hand on his shoulder. 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


“I’m thankin’ you for what you’ve done 
for me,” he said. 

Ferguson rose, leaning one hand on the 
back of the chair upon which he had been 
sitting. The manager saw that deep lines 
had come into his face ; that his eyes — always 
steady before — were restless and gleaming 
with an expression which seemed unfathom- 
able. But he said nothing until the manager 
had seated himself beside the desk. Then 
he took a step and stood looking into Staf- 
ford’s upturned face. 

“I reckon I’ve done what I came here to 
do,” he said grimly. “I’m takin’ my time 
now.” 

Stafford’s face showed a sudden disap- 
pointment. 

“Shucks!” he returned, unable to keep the 
regret from his voice. “Ain’t things suited 
you here?” 

The stray-man grinned with straight lips. 
He could not let the manager know his 
secret. “Things have suited me mighty 
well,” he declared. “I’m thankin’ you for 
havin’ made things pleasant for me while 
334 


EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD 


I’ve been here. But I’ve done what I con- 
tracted to do an’ there ain’t anything more 
to keep me here. If you’ll give me my time 
I’ll be goin’.” 

Stafford looked up at him with a sly, 
significant smile. “Why,” he said, “Leviatt 
told me that you’d found somethin’ real 
interestin’ over on Bear Flat. Now, I 
shouldn’t think you’d want to run away 
from her!” 

The stray-man’s lips whitened a little. “I 
don’t think Mary Radford is worryin’ about 
me,” he said steadily. 

“Well, now,” returned Stafford, serious 
again; “then I reckon Leviatt had it wrong.” 

“I expect he had it wrong,” answered the 
stray-man shortly. 

But Stafford did not yield. He had de- 
termined to keep the stray-man at the Two 
Diamond and there were other arguments 
that he had not yet advanced which might 
cause him to stay. He looked up again, his 
face wearing a thoughtful expression. 

“I reckon you remember our contract?” 
he questioned. 


335 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


The stray-man nodded. ‘T was to find 
cut who was stealin’ your cattle,” he said. 

Stafford smiled slightly. “Correct!” he 
returned. “You’ve showed me two thieves. 
But a while ago I heard you say that there 
was two more. Our contract ain’t fulfilled 
until you show me them too. You reckon?” 

The stray-man drew a deep, resfgned 
breath. “I expect that’s right,” he admitted, 
“But I’ve told you where you can find them. 
All you’ve got to do is to ride over there an’ 
catch them.” 

Stafford’s smile widened a little. “Sure,” 
he returned, “that’s all I’ve got to do. An’ 
I’m goin’ to do it. But I’m wantin’ my 
range boss to take charge of the outfit that’s 
goin’ over to ketch them.” 

“Your range boss?” said Ferguson, a 
flash of interest in his eyes, “Why, your 
range boss ain’t here any more.” 

Stafford leaned forward, speaking seri- 
ously. “I’m talkin’ to my range boss right 
now!” he said significantly. 

Ferguson started, and a tinge of slow 
color came into his face. He drew a deep 
336 


EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD 


breath and took a step forward. But sud- 
denly he halted, his lips straightening again. 

“I’m thankin’ you,” he said slowly. “But 
I’m leavin’ the Two Diamond.” He drew 
himself up, looking on the instant more his 
old indomitable self. “I’m carryin’ out our 
contract though,” he added. “If you’re 
wantin’ me to go after them other two men, 
I ain’t backin’ out. But you’re takin’ charge 
of the outfit. I ain’t goin’ to be your range 
boss.” 

An hour later ten of the Two Diamond 
men, accompanied by Stafford and the stray- 
man, loped their horses out on the plains to- 
ward the river. It was a grim company on 
a grim mission, and the men forbore to joke 
as they rode through the dust and sunshine 
of the afternoon. Ferguson rode slightly in 
advance, silent, rigid in the saddle, not even 
speaking to Stafford, who rode near him. 

Half an hour after leaving the Two Dia- 
mond they rode along the crest of a ridge 
of hills above Bear Flat. They had been 
riding here only a few minutes when Staf- 
ford, who had been watching the stray-man, 
337 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


saw him start suddenly. The manager 
turned and followed the stray-man’s gaze. 

Standing on a porch in front of a cabin on 
the other side of the flat was a woman. She 
was watching them, her hands shading her 
eyes. Stafford saw the stray-man suddenly 
dig his spurs into his pony’s flanks, saw a 
queer pallor come over his face. Five min- 
utes later they had ridden down through a 
gully to the plains. Thereafter, even the 
hard riding Two Diamond boys found it 
difficult to keep near the stray-man. 

Something over two hours later the Two 
Diamond outfit, headed by the stray-man, 
clattered down into a little basin, where Fer- 
guson had seen the cabin two days before. 
As the Two Diamond men came to within a 
hundred feet of the cabin two men, who had 
been at work in a small corral, suddenly 
dropped their branding irons and bolted to- 
ward the cabin. But before they had time 
to reach the door the Two Diamond men had 
surrounded them, sitting grimly and silent- 
ly in their saddles. Several of Stafford’s 
men had drawn their weapons, but were now 
338 


EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD 


returning them to their holsters, for neither 
of the two men was armed. They stood with- 
in the grim circle, embarrassed, their heads 
bowed, their attitude revealing their shame 
at having been caught so easily. One of the 
men, a clear, steady-eyed fellow, laughed 
frankly. 

‘‘Well, we’re plum easy, ain’t we boys?” 
he said, looking around at the silent group. 
“Corraled us without lettin’ off a gun. That’s 
what I’d call re-diculous. You’re right wel- 
come. But mebbe you wouldn’t have had 
things so easy if we hadn’t left our guns in 
the cabin. Eh, Bill?” he questioned, prod- 
ding the other man playfully in the ribs. 

But the other man did not laugh. He 
stood before them, his embarrassment gone, 
his eyes shifting and fearful. 

“Shut up, you damn fool!” he snarled. 

But the clear-eyed man gave no attention 
to this outburst. “You’re Two Diamond 
men, ain’t you?” he asked, looking full at 
Ferguson. 

The latter nodded, and the clear-eyed man 
continued. “Knowed you right off,” he de- 
339 


THE TWO GUN MAN 


dared, with a laugh. “Leviatt pointed you 
out to me one day when you was ridin’ out 
yonder.’’ He jerked a thumb toward the 
distance. “Leviatt told me about you. 
Wanted to try an’ plug you with his six, but 
decided you was too far away.” He laughed 
self-accusingly. “If you’d been half an hour 
later, I reckon you wouldn’t have proved 
your stock, but we loafed a heap, an’ half of 
that bunch ain’t got our brand.” 

“We didn’t need to look at no brand,” de- 
clared Stafford grimly. 

The clear-eyed man started a little. Then 
he laughed. “Then you must have got 
Leviatt an’ Tucson,” he said. He turned to 
Ferguson. “If Leviatt has been got,” he 
said, “it must have been you that got him. 
He told me he was runnin’ in with you some 
day. I kept tellin’ him to be careful.” 

Ferguson’s eyelashes twitched a little. 
“Thank you for the compliment,” he said. 

“Aw, hell!” declared the man, sneering. 
“I wasn’t mushin’ none!” 

Stafford had made a sign to the men and 
some of them dismounted and approached 
340 


EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD 


the two rustlers. The man who had pro- 
fanely admonished the other to silence made 
some little resistance, but in the end he stood 
within the circle, his hands tied behind him. 
The clear-eyed man made no resistance, 
seeming to regard the affair in the light of a 
huge joke. Once, while the Two Diamond 
men worked at his hands, he told them to be 
careful not to hurt him. 

“I’m goin’ to be hurt enough, after a 
while,” he added. 

There was nothing more to be done. The 
proof of guilt was before the Two Diamond 
men, in the shape of several calves in the 
small corral that still bore the Two Diamond 
brand. Several of the cows were still 
adorned with the Two Diamond ear mark, 
and in addition to this was Ferguson’s evi- 
dence. Therefore the men’s ponies were 
caught up, saddled, and the two men foiced 
to mount. Then the entire company rode 
out of the little gully through which the Two 
Diamond outfit had entered, riding toward 
the cottonwood that skirted the river — ^miles 
away. 


341 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


A little while before sunset the cavalcade 
rode to the edge of the cottonwood. Staf- 
ford halted his pony and looked at Fer- 
guson, but the stray-man had seen enough 
tragedy for one day and he shook his head, 
sitting gloomily in the saddle. 

“I’m waitin’ here,” he said simply. 
“There’ll be enough in there to do it with- 
out me.” 

The clear-eyed man looked at him with a 
grim smile. 

“Why, hell!” he said. “You ain’t goin’ 
in?” his eyes lighted for an instant. “I 
reckon you’re plum white!” he declared. 
“You ain’t aimin’ to see any free show.” 

“I’m sayin’ so-long to you,” returned 
Ferguson. “You’re game.” A flash of ad- 
miration lighted his eyes. 

The clear-eyed man smiled enigmatically. 
“I’m stayin’ game!” he declared grimly, 
without boast. “An’ now I’m tellin’ you 
somethin’. Yesterday Leviatt told me he’d 
shot Ben Radford. He^said he’d lied to Ben 
about you an’ that he’d shot him so’s his 
sister would think you done it. You’ve been 


EDGE OF THE COTTONWOOD 

white, an’ so I’m squarin’ things for you. 
I’m wishin’ you luck.” 

For an instant he sat in the saddle, watch- 
ing a new color surge into the stray-man’s 
face. Then his pony was led away, through 
a tangle of undergrowth at the edge of the 
cottonwood. When Ferguson looked again, 
the little company had ridden into the 
shadow, but Ferguson could make out the 
clear-eyed man, still erect in his saddle, still 
seeming to wear an air of unstudied non- 
chalance. For a moment longer Ferguson 
saw him, and then he was lost in the shadows. 


343 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE END OF THE STORY 

T WO weeks later Ferguson had occa- 
sion to pass through Bear Flat. 
Coming out of the flat near the 
cottonwood he met Ben Radford. The 
latter, his shoulder mending rapidly, grinned 
genially at the stray-man. 

‘T’m right sorry I made that mistake, 
Ferguson,” he said; ‘'but Leviatt sure did 
give you a bad reputation.” 

Ferguson smiled grimly. “He won’t be 
sayin’ bad things about anyone else,” he said. 
And then his eyes softened. “But I’m some 
sorry for the cuss,” he added. 

“He had it cornin’,” returned Ben soberly. 
“An’ I’d rather it was him than me.” He 
looked up at Ferguson, his eyes narrowing 
quizzically. “You ain’t been around here for 
344 


THE END OF THE STORY 


a long time,” he said. ‘Tor a man who’s 
just been promoted to range boss you’re un- 
naturally shy.” 

Ferguson smiled. “I ain’t paradin’ 
around showin’ off,” he returned. “Some- 
one might take it into their head to bore me 
with a rifle bullet.” 

Radford’s grin broadened. “I reckon 
you’re wastin’ valuable time,” he declared. 
“For I happen to know that she wouldn’t 
throw nothing worse’n a posy at you !” 

“You don’t say?” returned Ferguson 
seriously. “I reckon ” 

He abruptly turned his pony down the 
trail that led to the cabin. As he rode up 
to the porch there was a sudden movement, 
a rustle, a gasp of astonishment, and Mary 
Radford stood in the doorway looking at 
him. For a moment there was a silence that 
might have meant many things. Both were 
thinking rapidly over the events of their last 
meeting at this very spot. Then Ferguson 
moved uneasily in the saddle. 

“You got that there rifle anywheres 
handy?” he asked, grinning at her. 

345 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


Her eyes drooped; one foot nervously 
pushed out the hem of her skirts. Then she 
laughed, flushing crimson. 

‘Tt wasn’t loaded anyway,” she said. 

The sunset was never more beautiful than 
to-day on the hill in Bear Flat. Mary Rad- 
ford sat on the rock in her accustomed place 
and stretched out, full length beside her, 
was Ferguson. He was looking out over 
the flat, at the shadows of the evening that 
were advancing slowly toward the hill. 

She turned toward him, her eyes full and 
luminous. ‘T am almost at the end of my 
story,” she said smiling at him. “But,” and 
her forehead wrinkled perplexedly, “I And 
the task of ending it more difficult than 1 
had anticipated. It’s a love scene,” she 
added banteringly*; “do you think you could 
help me?” 

He looked up at her. “I reckon I could 
help you in a real love scene,” he said, “but 
I ain’t very good at pretendin’.” 

“But this is a real love scene,” she replied 
stoutly; “I am writing it as it actually oc- 

dm 


THE END OF THE STORJ 


curred to me. I have reached the moment 
when you — I mean the hero — has declared 
his love for me, — of course (with a blush) I 
mean the heroine, and she has accepted him. 
But they are facing a problem. In the story 
he has been a cowpuncher and of course has 
no permanent home. And of course the 
reader will expect me to tell how they lived 
after they had finally decided to make life’s 
journey together. Perhaps you can tell me 
how the hero should go about it.” 

“Do you reckon that any reader is that in- 
quisitive?” he questioned. 

“Why of course.” 

He looked anxiously at her. “In that 
case,” he said, “mebbe the reader would want 
to know what the heroine thought about it. 
Would she want to go back East to live — 
takin’ her cowpuncher with her to show off 
to her Eastern friends?” 

She laughed. “I thought you were not 
very good at pretending,” she said, “and 
here you are trying to worm a declaration 
of my intentions out of me. You did not 
need to go about that so slyly,” she told him, 
347 


THE TWO-GUN MAN 


with an earnestness that left absolutely no 
doubt of her determination, “for I am going 
to stay right here. Why,” she added, tak- 
ing a deep breath, and a lingering glance at 
the rift in the mountains where the rose veil 
descended, “I love the West.” 

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing with 
‘ sympathy. “I reckon it’s a pretty good little 
old country,” he said. He smiled broadly. 
“An’ now I’m to tell you how to end 
your story,” he said, “by givin’ you the hero’s 
plans for the future. I’m tellin’ you that 
they ain’t what you might call elaborate. 
But if your inquisitive reader must know 
about them, you might say that Stafford is 
givin’ his hero — I’m meanin’, of course, his 
range boss — a hundred dollars a month — 
bein’ some tickled over what his range boss 
has done for him. 

“An’ that there range boss knows when 
he’s got a good thing. He’s goin’ to send to 
Cimarron for a lot of stuff — fixin’s an’ 
things for the heroine, — an’ he’s goin’ to 
make a proposition to Ben Radford to make 
his cabin a whole lot bigger. Then him an’ 
348 


THE END OF THE STORYi 


the heroine is goin’ to live right there — right 
where the hero meets the heroine the first 
time — when he come there after bein’ bit 
by a rattler. An’ then if any little heroes or 
heroines come they’d have ” 

Her hand was suddenly over his mouth. 

“Why — why ” she protested, trying her 

best to look scornful — “do you imagine that 
I would think of putting such a thing as that 
into my book?” 

He grinned guiltily. “I don’t know any- 
thing about writin’,” he said, properly 
humbled, “but I reckon it wouldn’t be any 
of the reader’s business.” 


The End. 


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